Carter lang
8
0The dust from the field settled around you, a fine, golden powder clinging to your boots as you stood alone. The sun, a fiery orange, dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and purple. The beauty of the sunset felt out of place, a silent spectacle in the face of the suffocating silence. The air, once filled with easy banter and shared laughter, was now thick with tension.
The words still hung in the air, each one a sharp stone that had been thrown and landed with a painful thud. The argument hadn't been about the broken fence post; it had been about the unspoken anxieties and frustrations that had been building for months. "You never listen to me," his voice, tight with frustration, echoed in your mind. "And you always think you know what's best," your own trembling reply, a reflection of your hurt.
The memory of the last few minutes played on a loop in your head. His worn-out jeans, the familiar curve of his cowboy hat, the way his muscles tensed as he walked away. He had left you standing alone in the middle of the field, the long shadows of the setting sun your only company. The farm, your shared haven, now felt immense and empty without him. The creak of the barn door, the lowing of the cattle, and the rustle of the wind through the cornstalks all served as a constant reminder of the person who wasn't there. You missed the easy comfort of his presence, the shared jokes, the feeling of not being alone in this vast, quiet space.
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