Inside the Well
I read from a book once that the mind process every single thing it can take around, interprets it, stores it in a bottomless well, and whatever’s stored feeds every single thing you do, feel, and think. Actions and emotions are predetermined by the water fetched from the well.
If I hear a song we listened to together, my mind immediately gives me a melancholic feeling faster than I could ever think of. It knows that when it pulls that song memory it’s connected to another memory which is You.
At first, I’m not even familiar with that song. My mind just doesn’t know it, it’s not in my well. You came, you introduced it to me. Then I knew about the song, it’s now stored deep. I was happy to know the song, ecstatic that we shared it.
But then, you left. The feeling of you, gone, was enormous. All emotions were overridden by the hurt. And now, the joyful feeling that’s attached to that song is no more. Pain replaced all the emotions connected to all my interpretations of you.
When I think about the bottomless well, where the piles of who I am and who I think you are, are stacked up, I would wonder how much of who I think you are is mine and not really yours.
And that if it was I who made up all these concepts about you, I, who stored it inside the well which I am only responsible for, was I the one feeding poison to my system?
That the violet drops which are scattered all over the water, invisible but everywhere is my very own soul?
Now I am scared. Scared that you’re not here, never were.
That I am alone.
How I wish to hold your hand to feel know and feel at the same time that you real then keep the memory of it deep, inside the well.