u/LegSoHotUFryAnEgg

"Love" begins Griffy, autographing his latest masterpiece.
He grasps the marker with hard-earned dexterity and unearned swagger.
His puppy-paw hands rouse the memory of six years of grasping.

In his blurry new world, he grasped my giant's finger, and little else.
His trailblazing mind ventured far beyond his infant body.
So, he grasped wildly within the ocean of novelty.

"Love Gi..." he continues, his brow furrowing.
That trailblazing mind still strides a bit too quickly for his hands, I think.
The "i" cleverly becomes and "r" and he continues.
Six years of grasping — with all that remains to go.
"Love Griffy" he writes.
And he's right.
I do.

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What lies at the bottom of the Well of Discontentment?
Every day you cast in 'if only' s'
craning your ear for the soft plink of validation.

"plink" says the well, according to its purpose.

The well is comprised of a thousand 'never mind' stones.
It's made from an excess of scarcity.
Built with 'not enough time' and 'too much to do',
and braced by anxiety — like most things in your life.

"Gather your discontentment." bids the sign by the well.
"Harden it. Press the moment into cold stone.
Feed it to me and I'll prove it was real."

"plink" says the well, dutifully.

It's a fair price, I guess.

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