Letters to my Younger Self: Pulling up Water

I thought things were hopeless. That’s why I made the decisions I did. But they weren’t.

After college, I moved to Riverblossom Hills. The house was small, but somehow it was everything I’d always dreamed of. There was one thing that I had never imagined being there- a wishing well tucked into the backyard.

I remember playing Wizard with my mom’s side of the family back in high school. I had bid six (meaning that I had to take exactly six tricks to not lose any points) and I was debating which card to play. I had only taken four tricks, so when my grandma asked “Is the well dry yet?” she probably thought that I had overbid.

I closed my eyes as I held the coin suspended over the well’s depths. Fireflies flitted all around, their light casting inimitable patterns of light and shadow over the yard. I thought of what I wanted most; what life had denied me. What other people could and couldn’t give me. Then I settled on a wish and let the coin slip from my surprisingly sweaty hand. A breath escaped my lungs and a smile lit up my face brighter than any firefly.

The well wasn’t dry yet- I was just choosing when to pull up water.


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