Gemotions

The air in the apartment was thick with dust and regret. Daniel sat on the edge of his mother's bed, the springs groaning beneath him. He didn’t want to be here, sorting through her things. Each object was a sharp stab of memory. He picked up a worn leather-bound diary, its pages filled with her familiar looping handwriting. He found a list tucked between the entries. It read: "Visit Japan." "Learn to paint." "Find true love." He felt a tightening in his chest. What was the point of it all? He tossed the diary back onto the bed, the action a testament to his frustration.