Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia coughed, waving away a plume that had erupted from a trunk. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and faded photographs, she found it – her mother's bucket list, scribbled in elegant, looping handwriting. "See the Northern Lights," it began. Amelia's shoulders slumped. She'd spent the last year meticulously organizing her mother's affairs, a task she'd approached with a grim, joyless efficiency. She felt a familiar knot tighten in her stomach.

She ran her finger down the list. "Learn to play the ukulele." Amelia had always been too busy, too practical. "Write a novel." A hollow laugh escaped her. Amelia, who struggled to write a grocery list without feeling inadequate. The list stretched on, a testament to a life lived differently, a life of dreams she'd never allowed herself.

Her reflection in a dusty mirror caught her eye. She looked gaunt, her eyes shadowed. She’d always been the responsible one, the achiever. Now, staring at her own face, she saw only a pale imitation of what she thought she should be.