Gemotions

“Run a marathon.” “Write a song.” “Plant a tree.” The small notebook lay open on the workbench in the garage. He barely noticed it when he went to fix the leaky faucet. He grabbed his tools.

The house felt too large, the silence a constant hum. He tightened the wrench, the metal cold against his hand. He wasn't sure when he stopped feeling things. He worked, his movements methodical and efficient.

He didn't bother to close the book when he was done. He left it there, next to the dripping tap.