Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old books clung to the air as I opened the battered box. Sarah's handwriting, bold and looping, jumped out at me from the worn pages of her diary. Underneath a photograph of us, smiling on a beach, was a yellowing piece of paper: "Bucket List." My breath hitched.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by her belongings. “Visit Venice.” “Learn Italian.” “Ride a hot air balloon.” The words swam before my eyes. Each one a tiny spark, igniting a warmth in my chest, a feeling like a half-forgotten song. The Italian, she’d talked about it for years, dreaming of cobblestone streets and gondolas.

I picked up a worn leather-bound travel guide to Italy. Images of ancient architecture and vibrant city life flickered past my eyes. I recalled the way she’d point at these pictures, her face animated. I flipped through the pages, a strange pressure building in my temples. Venice… why hadn't we gone?