Gemotions

The aroma of stale coffee hung in the air, a reminder of the countless hours spent here. Mark stared at the list, the paper crumpled in his hand. “Write a book.” “Swim in the ocean.” “Find love.” He felt a knot tighten in his gut. He was alone.

His father, always so reserved, had guarded these dreams fiercely. Mark felt a suffocating sense of inadequacy. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he'd inherited.

He looked around the cluttered room, at the stacks of books and the overflowing ashtray. The list felt like a challenge, but also a burden. He felt strangely depleted.