Gemotions

The crumpled napkin was on the bedside table, next to a half-empty glass of water. It was folded and refolded, showing the evidence of long, slow movements, like a river eroding a mountainside. He recognized the elegant script immediately. It was Maria’s. He picked it up with a detached gesture.

“See the cherry blossoms in Japan.” “Learn to paint.” “Run a marathon.” Each entry was a punch in the gut. He could feel the familiar hollowness in his chest. He set the napkin back down, carefully, and turned away from the light.