Gemotions

John scrubbed at his forehead, the sweat stinging his eyes. He found the list tucked between the mattress and the box spring. It was in Emily’s perfect, looping handwriting. *Ride a Harley Davidson across Route 66.* He felt a pulse hammering in his temple.

He threw the list onto the floor. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams, momentarily catching his eye. *Write a novel*. She’d always scoffed at his attempts to start a blog.

He stalked across the room, kicking aside a discarded shoe. Why? Why hadn't she ever mentioned any of this? The air felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. He balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms.