Gemotions

He traced the faded ink, the edges of the paper brittle beneath his fingertip. His father’s neat script listed audacious goals: “Sail across the Atlantic.” “Learn to play the blues.” “Kiss a stranger in Paris.” David scoffed at first, a hollow, bitter sound. Then, something inside him shifted.

His vision became hyper-focused. He saw every grain of the wood on the desk, every fleck of dust motes dancing in the sunbeam slicing through the room. The air buzzed, a palpable energy. "Kiss a stranger," he repeated aloud, the words tasting strange on his tongue. He pictured himself, a ghost of his former self, transformed.

He flung the journal onto the floor and paced his apartment, too restless to stay still. He needed… something. He grabbed his phone and started scrolling, searching for flights to the City of Lights.