Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. John held the worn notebook in his hands. It was hers, Anna's, discovered during a spring cleaning spree. He sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of discarded magazines and forgotten treasures. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Write a novel” – he read aloud, his voice raspy. He remembered her late nights, hunched over her laptop, fueled by coffee and dreams. He thought about the stories she never got to tell.

The list went on, each entry a stab to the heart. He found himself thinking about her with a certain longing. He picked up his phone, then put it back down. He looked back down at the bucket list.