Gemotions

The last box, tucked away in the back of the garage. Inside, amongst the tools and fishing gear, was a small, spiral notebook. His father's handwriting, large and bold, stared back at him. *Build a boat.* *Go fishing in Alaska.* *Tell my son he's a good man.* Daniel felt the room tilt. The list, a list of unfulfilled dreams, seemed to amplify every ache, every regret.

The garage, normally a place of comfort, of familiar smells and sounds, now felt suffocating. He paced back and forth, unable to settle. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight. He kept running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the jumble of emotions that consumed him. He felt like his heart was trying to escape his chest.

He fell to his knees beside the box, the notebook clutched in his hand. Tears streamed down his face, blurring the words, as he whispered brokenly, "Why?"