Gemotions

The silence in the bedroom was deafening. John sat on the edge of the bed, the crumpled list clutched in his fist. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the Persian rug. He felt detached, adrift in a sea of unspoken words.

He reread the words, the handwriting a familiar dance. "See the Northern Lights." "Write a novel." "Fall in love again." His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. He looked around the room, at the shared furniture, the photographs on the nightstand.

He stood up abruptly, the movement too sudden. His legs felt shaky. He walked towards the window and stared out at the street. The world seemed blurry. Was she thinking of him when she wrote those words?