There once was She.

She, who inches through time, and She who was worn away by its endless whittling against Her bones.

Yonder into the past, for She did not know, She left her home, carried away in the strong currents of youth. Awakening from a traveler’s slumber, She found settlement and built a home in the forest, a place of cold streams and lush ferns.

Populated as it was, They did not care for Her just as She had no care for Them.

After a while, another came into Her life.

Placid green and soft was this one. One, She discovered, that cared for Her. It’s warm fuzziness grew upon Her with a subtle intensity.

Others learned of Her newly softened exterior and often bent down to have mirthful chatter. She recognizes those times as among Her happiest. But all good things come to an end.

Desperate times came, Her dearest One withered away from Her as though a leaf blown in the wind.

To frozen grief She succumbed, the cold putting cracks in Her heart. Now, She looks on as others make the same mistakes, her exterior now weathered and broken.

What a life, the stone thought, when would it end?