Gemotions

The day dragged. He trudged through his morning routine, each step a chore. The apartment felt suffocating, even with the windows open. The emails piled up, but each one seemed to demand more effort than he could muster. He knew his girlfriend, Sarah, would be home soon. She’d been working extra shifts at the hospital. He knew she needed him.

He was looking for the remote when he spotted it, tucked beneath the sofa cushions: a small notebook, its cover faded with age. Sarah's handwriting, neat and precise, adorned the front: *My Dreams.* He flipped it open, and felt something inside him clench.

*Run a marathon.* *Learn to speak Spanish fluently.* *Open a dog shelter.* His own ambition seemed to have withered and died. He felt a deep sense of inadequacy, a quiet echo of things left undone. The thought of making dinner filled him with dread. He slumped back against the sofa.