Gemotions

The tiny script on the paper swam before Ben's eyes. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white. The words, so carefully written, felt like tiny, stinging needles. "Visit the Taj Mahal." "Learn to paint." "Adopt a dog." Maya, his Maya, had these grand aspirations, and he, apparently, wasn't a part of them. He felt the blood rush to his face, a sudden and unwanted heat.

He crumpled the list in his hand, then quickly smoothed it out, as if trying to erase the offense. He felt a deep hollowness, a space where he should have been. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as though the walls were closing in.