Gemotions

He hadn't watered his side of the new fence, not once, since the structure was built. The wood was already beginning to warp and crack, weathering faster than he had expected. He stared at the dry wood.

He'd been furious. His neighbor's overgrown bushes had been encroaching on his garden, and he'd finally snapped. He'd envisioned a beautiful, green fence, the perfect solution.

Now, he hated the way the sun baked the wood, the way the cracks widened, the way his neighbor no longer waved hello. The fence stood as a monument to his failure to see what had been there the whole time.