Gemotions

The weight of the day settled on Michael's shoulders, a familiar burden he could barely shrug off. He dragged himself through the door, the scent of dinner – something he didn’t remember preparing - drifting from the kitchen. Sarah was at her pottery class. He felt a deep, almost physical, tiredness.

He found it under the mattress, a crumpled piece of paper covered in ink. He knew it was hers, though she kept her belongings meticulously organized. He unfolded it, the paper brittle and thin. "Visit the Amazon," it read, in bold lettering. He felt a pang of something akin to guilt.

His eyes scanned the list: “Learn to scuba dive,” “Write a novel,” “See the Northern Lights.” Each item was a bright spark, a desire he hadn’t known she possessed. He sank onto the bed, the mattress offering no comfort.