Gemotions

The apartment felt too big, the silence too loud. David, slumped on the sofa, held the dog-eared list. It was a childish collection, scrawled in his mother's bubbly handwriting. "Go to space." "Learn to speak French." "Become a famous baker." Each entry felt like a personal accusation, a reminder of the lighthearted spirit that had vanished.

He hadn’t showered in two days. The takeout containers piled up on the coffee table like a monument to his inertia. The world outside, buzzing with activity, felt miles away, unreachable. He looked at the list again, feeling a dull ache in his chest, a heavy pressure that made it difficult to breathe. He wanted to feel something, anything, besides this crushing weight.

A single tear dripped onto the paper, blurring the already faded ink. He turned his face to the ceiling, unable to meet the gaze of his own reflection.