Prose Poetry: Wishing Well

And I am at the point where everything has turned upside down and now it is the tips of my hair grazing the stones, not my feet at all. There is a wishing well some distance from here but I don’t think it works because I’ve wished and wished for someone to just tell me, just tell, just tell me. What to do. There is a dying star beneath the water but that doesn’t mean anything, not really. There are no fairy lights luring weak men into the shadows. It is not evidence of some ancient miracle waiting to be discovered. It is dying, it is dying, can’t you see it? It means nothing, now.

He laughs as I approach the well, even though he isn’t here, and I almost falter. I almost stop completely. It soothes like a lullaby, rocks me to a daze. If there was only this for the rest of my life, only his voice, only his whisper, that would be enough. If I go to the well, what will happen to this? I’m afraid I won’t be able to carry it with me anymore.

And so, everything is different. I am not the person I was. How can that be? How did this happen? I look away for one moment and suddenly I am not me at all. Did I do this, or did you, or did he? I am to blame, I think. There was a gap, I could have made it, could have slipped through. But I chose not to. I peer into the deep darkness of the wishing well and nothing stares back at me. Just the weakened radiance of a life lived too soon, a love lost too late. A dying star. A dying star.

I am undone.

One Response to “Prose Poetry: Wishing Well”
  1. It’s beautiful. I love it. I’m super jealous, but also really inspired by this. I want it to have a video that goes with it, and spoken word voice over. Just sayin’.

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