Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. He’d found the list hidden in the back of her sock drawer. “Learn to speak French.” "See the Eiffel Tower." "Adopt a dog." Each item a fresh wound. He couldn’t bring himself to put it down. The paper felt like it was absorbing the despair that seemed to have permeated everything.

He paced the living room, the familiar hardwood creaking under his feet. The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Time marched on, relentless and indifferent. He felt utterly adrift, a ship without a rudder. He wished, with a ferocity that surprised him, that he could rewind it all.

He stopped, his gaze fixed on the empty space where her favourite armchair used to be. He missed her laugh, the way she'd hum while she did the dishes. The loss was a physical ache, a constant pressure he could barely endure.