Gemotions

The crisp wind whipped around Michael as he stood on the cliff overlooking the ocean. His hands were numb, his cheeks raw. He’d found the list tucked inside a cookbook, a place his mother, a woman of culinary precision, would never have left such a thing.

*Sail the Pacific.* Michael's stomach lurched. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The vast expanse of water seemed to mock him.

*Learn to dance the tango.* He scoffed, a bitter sound lost to the wind. The incongruity of it was almost comical. He didn't know what to do with the information.

*Forgive myself.* The words were a punch to the gut. Michael stumbled back a step, the ground suddenly unstable beneath his feet.