Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled the air. Amelia found the list tucked inside her mother’s favorite book of poetry. “Plant a rose garden.” “Learn to bake bread.” Her mother had always loved those things. Amelia, on the other hand, barely knew how to boil water.

She sat on the floor of her mother's study, surrounded by the remnants of her life. Each item on the list felt like a tiny pinprick, a reminder of the things left unsaid, the paths untrodden. Her throat felt tight. Her mother had always been so full of life, so vibrant.

Amelia picked up a pen, the silence amplifying the scratch of the nib against the paper. She started to write.