Gemotions

The sun blazed mercilessly, but inside the small, cluttered workshop, Leo felt a persistent chill. He stared at the list, his father’s last testament. "Build a wooden boat." "See the Taj Mahal." "Meet a famous musician." The ambitions felt both inspiring and impossibly distant, and he felt a crushing sense of inadequacy.

He ran a hand through his hair, a weary gesture. The tools lay scattered, untouched. He'd been avoiding them, unable to bring himself to work on his father's unfinished projects. The grief settled in his bones, a constant ache that blunted his senses. He felt anchored, stuck, unable to move forward.

He picked up a piece of sandpaper, the rough texture doing nothing to rouse him. The list felt like a mountain he couldn't even begin to scale.