t r e e s o f t h r e e

Time listlessly moved on for the duo, the boy, the girl, the value between them. Or, one might say, the invaluableness.

They were priceless, beyond value, and yet they were worn.

Beaten, winded, the essence of life itself. The life the well wished to possess.

The life it already did.

They seemed invincible, gods to a world of weak and vulnerable people they did not understand.

Nothing hurt as much as longing, and that was all they felt.

Worse still was their longing for something they did not know, something they loved and feared equally.

Nothing was as balanced as the well's call, its mindless reach for wanton objects.

Nothing was as certain as their eventual deliverance.

One day, sooner than any could predict, but farther away than any wanted, they would give themselves to the well.

And then they would be complete.

But the well, the unending void where many might sing and cry and lie in wait as the well always did, wouldn't feel the same.

The well would fulfill its greedy children until they lost their love once again, as they always did.

Until the well could find a way to keep them as they were, or find those less wanting, but of perfect diligence to its side, it would never be complete.

You see, the well knew all wishes; knew how to grant them. The reason behind that elegant power was painful experience.

The well never ceased to be.