Written by and shared on behalf of Steph Grainger (@TattySoul) | Twitter
I am trapped inside a wishing well and I have run out of pennies to offer as a gift for my freedom. So I sit at the bottom, it is cold and dark with the water resting silently around me. My back leans against the cool damp stones, all rectangular in shape with rounded edges which for some reason surprises me. I've never really thought about how far down the circle of stones goes in a wishing well. Nobody can hear or see me when they look down yet I can hear their distant chatter as they laugh and play, I wish to be a part of their light-hearted lives but there are no more pennies for me. The wishing well is unforgiving, it isn't cruel it simply needs the penny to grant the wish. The pennies that fall down can't be borrowed they are full of the wishes of others and I hope they come true for them. I need my own and I had plenty, I just used them wrong. Maybe not wrong but more a case of I used them unwisely and now they are all gone. I can't climb out, the stone walls are wet and have a layer of green moss growing in large patches over the surface making them slippery, even without the moss there are no stones that jut out that I could use as a ladder. The bucket that would at one time be functional has long gone and the wishing well is now filled with the hopes and dreams of others without a purpose of it's own, except to live up to those hopes and dreams. If I had a penny then the wishing well would help me but I only have me and that's not enough to climb to the top. Written by and shared on behalf of Steph Grainger (@TattySoul) | Twitter Photography by Steph Grainger (@TattySoul) | Twitter
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