The Wishing Well

Do you ever not feel like yourself?



Do you ever feel—say, fractured into billions of little pieces, just drifting within your own body without purpose?



How about your grief? Is it in check today? Did you put it back in that damned glass jar again?



I've already warned you of the teeny cracks in that jar. They don't look like much now but if it's weakened that much already I'd hate to see what it will look like in a couple of weeks.



Need a break?



Sit down, please, and listen. Let me tell you what I know.



You put your grief in the jar if you must, poor darling.



I stick mine in one as well.