Gemotions

He sat on the porch, watching the sun set over the vast, empty fields. Every evening he did this. The landscape stretching before him, an endless expanse of solitude. He’d inherited his family farm. The farm, like him, felt like an ancient machine, endlessly repeating the same movements. The apology arrived in a worn leather-bound book, tucked inside a page, a letter from his grandfather, a man he had never known. The apology was for his treatment of his father, the man’s father. The weight of family history settled on his shoulders, the inheritance of pain and regret, and he wondered if he would ever escape the cycle.