Gemotions

The house was cold, despite the crackling fire. Maya examined her aunt’s list, which she had found hidden inside an old music box. “Write a children’s book.” “Learn to dance the tango.” Her aunt, a free spirit, had lived a life of color. Maya, on the other hand, was trapped in a gray existence.

She stared into the dancing flames, the list clutched in her hand. The silence was deafening. She felt a profound sense of isolation, a deep sadness that settled into her bones.

A tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a path through the dust on her face. She closed the box and leaned back against the couch, feeling the chill of the room settle over her.