UnderConstruction

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.

The Wishing Well

With the time of completion came reality.


Boy and Girl were more than just children of the well.


The well's children were a part of them, though, and they were the same person. A small part of someone who was lost to the unobtainable world where death was the only thing to be known.


They learned of an elixir known to cloak the strange weight of fate. How it was so easy to drown in the burning comfort.


It was themself who had undisputedly fallen victim to its embrace. Why they were so fractured.


She called to the well, taunted and jeered, asking for the ones who so needed to learn of sobriety.


But she did not know of the pain bound to her back, or why she was so unwelcome. She did not know of the well's comforting embrace, which told such pretty lies to refute her truth.


Boy and Girl needed July's truth. She had not sought them out, nor had they ventured for her.


They learned only because they had been needed. 


As the anniversary passed they were on the cusp of rejoining with the physical part of themself that knew so much hardship, so much despair that sometimes, when it was late and they could not sleep, and they could finally feel time catching up to them, they wished they were back in the well.


Back in a place so still the air didn't need to pass through lungs to be able to breathe.


Or they didn't need to breathe at all, if they were feeling too disillusioned.


Here there was always a steady in and out motion of breathing, a coiling cobra of a reminder of life. 


The thing about existing in the well was that while hiding from death they could no longer experience life.


So the boy and girl rejoined reality, constantly seeking back the empty parts of themself that were merrily celebrating within the well's shelter.


Those lost children were unaware of the home waiting for them. Unaware of such a life where they were needed more than they could ever comprehend.


Boy and Girl flipped through old watermarked photos of a simpler time when grief was so far in the future it was impossible to grasp, and when their body was quiet, they wondered what would happen if the children wished to go back home.


Finale