Gemotions

The crumpled paper was hidden under a stack of old magazines in the spare room. A handwritten bucket list. He never used the spare room. Never touched the magazines. She had. And now, this. He felt a throbbing in his temples as he scanned the items. *Learn to surf.* *See the Northern Lights.* *Write a novel.* He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his agitated fingers. Had she even *considered* him in these grand schemes?

He paced the length of the room, the worn floorboards groaning under his weight. He’d just offered to paint the kitchen. He’d envisioned a quiet weekend, not this… this existential crisis fueled by someone else's unfulfilled ambitions. He kicked a discarded shoe across the floor.

"Seriously?" he muttered, picking up the list again. *Go to Italy.* *Adopt a puppy.* *Learn Italian.* He was already going to Italy! And he’d *suggested* they get a dog last year and she'd said they were too busy. He tossed the list onto the table, the paper landing with a sharp slap. He needed a drink.