Gemotions

John kicked the overflowing bin across the kitchen. The metallic clang was satisfying, a small release. He'd found the list tucked between the pages of his mother's well-worn gardening journal, a list of outlandish aspirations that felt like a cruel joke. *"Ride a hot air balloon."* She'd been terrified of heights!

He ripped the paper from the journal, crumpling it in his fist. He pictured her, meticulously tending her roses, always practical, always grounded. A knot formed in his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat. This was supposed to be a time for healing, not this… this affront to her memory.