Gemotions

She looked at the list. “Learn to draw.” “See a Broadway show.” She held it in her hands, her knuckles white. She found it in the pocket of his favourite jacket. She had looked at it every day for weeks.

The world seemed to have lost its colour, its vibrancy. Even the sun felt weak, failing to warm her. She walked around the house and touched her belongings. Every object was a reminder. The photographs, the shared memories.

She closed her eyes, the familiar ache returning, a deep, hollow emptiness that seemed to echo through her very core. She knew she would never feel entirely right again. The loss was a wound that refused to heal. She looked at her reflection in the window, and saw her own ghost.