Gemotions

The first thing I did was take a deep breath. My mother’s handwriting was so familiar, yet it felt new somehow. I was going through her belongings, and on the inside of a cookbook, I found it: a list. "Go on a hot air balloon ride." "Learn to knit." "Write a novel."

I laughed, a dry, brittle sound. My mother, the woman who always put everyone else first, had dreams of her own. A surprising tenderness spread through me, making my eyes sting.

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the worn mattress beneath me. The room, usually so comforting, now held a different energy. I felt a yearning, a strong pull towards something more.