Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah, sifting through the mildewed cardboard boxes, felt a prickling sensation across her skin. This was supposed to be a bonding experience, a way to connect with the mother she’d lost. Instead, she felt a tightening in her chest when she unearthed a leather-bound journal. It wasn't a diary, but a list: “See the Northern Lights. Learn to salsa. Climb a mountain.” Sarah slammed the box shut, the metallic snap echoing in the silence. It all felt so impossibly grand, so full of… life. A life her mother had actively *lived*, while Sarah, well, Sarah stared at spreadsheets all day.