Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the lone ray of sun slicing through the blinds, illuminating the scrawled handwriting on the aged paper. "See the Northern Lights." *Of course,* she thought, her lips twisting. He’d never even mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights. He’d barely mentioned *anything* lately.

She crumpled the list. It felt good to crush something, to make it small and insignificant. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes, a familiar weight. She tossed the paper into the trash, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the silent apartment.

Later, she found herself slamming the cereal box onto the counter, the force making the milk carton jump. "What's with you this morning?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the overflowing trash can. "Nothing," she said, her voice flat.