Gemotions

The back of Leo’s throat ached, a physical manifestation of the rising tide of… something. He stared at the list, the paper slightly yellowed with age. "Write a screenplay." "Live in Paris." "Master the art of origami." The words blurred before his eyes. He squeezed them shut, then opened them again, the list still there, taunting.

He ran a hand over his face, as though trying to physically wipe away the disappointment. He should have known. He should have seen it. He slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the silent room.