Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. He hadn't been up here in years, not since they bought the house. Now, driven by a restless energy he couldn't quite name, he was sifting through boxes, a desperate hunt for... he didn't even know what. Then, tucked into the back of a trunk, he found it. A spiral-bound notebook, its cover faded, the words "Bucket List" scrawled in her familiar, looping handwriting. He hesitated, hand hovering, a knot forming in his stomach. He shouldn't.

He opened it anyway. The first entry: "See the Northern Lights." He'd always dismissed her fascination with them, saying they were too expensive, too inconvenient. He remembered the last time she'd brought it up, her face falling when he'd scoffed. He'd been so busy with work. Such a fool.

He flipped through the pages. Learn to play the ukulele. Swim with dolphins. Adopt a stray dog. All the things he’d talked her out of, or simply never prioritized. He felt a hollowness expand in his chest, a vacuum where joy used to be. The dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight seemed to mock him.