Serpent of the well

I had all this awesome food ready for them in the car and they never turned up. I couldn’t understand why until I met you. You told me. And then I realised what had happened.
It really hurt me what you said. It really destroyed a lot of where I’m coming from. I wanted you to tell me how much it costs me to be part of who you are.
I told you not to go there. I told you to only think of me as a friend. But you didn’t listen. You wanted to play her. And I said, that’s something you should never do.
It was quite accusing what she said to me. It felt really wrong. I wanted to hide for a while. Then I began to understand why someone might not want to picnic in the woods with me. I realised that I scared them.
My attitude was short-tempered. I had very little access to much machinery besides my car. And I was somewhat fat.
So, I went off by myself and threw everything I collected into the river. All that beautiful tasty trout cooked-up and mashed into egg-whites. All those lovely dainty perfectly wonderful edible flowers I’d collected. Cheeses, sausages… all home made. All so wonderfully tasty. All into the river. Her loss, I said. Her loss. That’s when I started to realise that the river was actually alive and that it moved like a serpent and it had a home in a deep dark well. A well where all those thirsty could always drink from, when the serpent was around.
The serpent didn’t dig the hole though. The serpent just claimed it. Took its cool blue stream of consciousness down there and re-awoke the land. That’s what happens when a river gets fed what others do not wish to dine upon. The river finds the place which gives it endlessness.