Gemotions

He stood in the cluttered attic, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Arthur’s chest felt heavy, as if weighted down by a thousand unspoken words. He picked up the faded, dog-eared notebook. It was tucked amongst old photographs and forgotten trinkets. He flipped it open. “Write a novel.” The words seemed to jump off the page, mocking him. He’d always urged her to write, encouraged her to pursue her dreams. Now, he wondered if he ever truly believed in them.