Years later, today, I find myself thinking about that well where I was stuck for a while in my life. I didn’t climb into it by choice, but one day I realised I was already there.
At first, I was scared of the darkness. No matter which direction I moved, after a few steps, my hands hit the wall of the well. It was so deep in the earth that day and night looked the same, endless and dark, like space.
Being down there felt isolating, as if the world above had forgotten I existed. The silence was suffocating, and the darkness felt heavy, like the well itself was closing in on me.
But something strange happened. Even during the day, it felt dark, but at night I could see the starry sky. That was the only moment of peace. I spent my time imagining people around me, because there was nothing else to do but think. Still, they felt far away. I could only hear their voices—hollow and distant. Slowly, I started feeling comfortable there. Almost peaceful. In that well.
Then one day, I got a grip on myself and decided to climb out. I was surprised that I hadn’t thought of it before. Why didn’t I think of leaving sooner? Maybe because I was hoping someone would come, call my name from above, and ask how I was. But no one did.
So when I finally chose to leave, I noticed a rope. It had been there the whole time, but I hadn’t seen it. I still don’t know how I missed it. When I finally climbed out of that well, something felt different, maybe the world, maybe me. But after that, everything changed
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