This is in response to braveandreckless’s writing prompt challenge.
The thing that Furnwick found most curious about the Well of Loneliness – once he had searched half the world (it seemed) to find it, finally – was how un-lonely he felt when he at last looked therein.
For in it he saw the faces of every other wandering-lost soul who had struggled to get to that very place and moment, and themselves peer deeply in, all in hope of learning from what they had come, and to where and when they then belonged.
What Furnwick could not appreciate at that time, was that he saw all of the other Lonely at every other time, both before and beyond his own; they found each other across time and place, and his was but one of many Lonesome Wells, arrayed across all the many worlds.
His face looked upon each of the Lonely in all of those other lonesome moments, and they, every and each one, faced him back, and the space they saw there was not empty, but full of company.
The sky high above him wavered and rippled across the waters below, moving on their own accord – grey, a strip of ashen cloud, a passing crow, his own delicately shimmering and darkened silhouette, surrounded.
All their lonely faces from all these times and those places seemed at once, at first… at last… to share his pain. And then, and then… that curious change.
He regarded them for the right while – and shared with one or two a sad and slowly dawning smile. How could he not have known they were always and ever as one, and together, alone, in the waters of the wells of all of their worlds?
He saw in it so, so many other skies –
and so, so great a sum of both sad and of kindly eyes.