Entry One: The Silence
The heater went quiet like my confidence. Its hum, once steady, now gone. Only cold water greeted me.
I stood at the edge, testing the surface with my fingers. The water shivered, and so did I.
Entry Two: The Guilt
I thought shocking you would fix everything. I dumped powders like promises, swirling clouds of regret.
But the pH rolled its eyes. The filter sighed.
You deserved better than this.
Entry Three: The Reckoning
I lay awake that night, hearing nothing but silence. No comforting hum, no warmth rising.
Even the pump whispered disapproval. The test strip glared back at me, shades of pink and blue that spelled failure.
I saw my reflection in you — distorted, guilty, but trying.
Entry Four: The Redemption
I rolled up my sleeves. Vacuumed as if erasing all my mistakes. Scrubbed tiles with quiet desperation.
Balanced the water with care this time — not panic. You began to respond.
Slowly.
Your heater coughed back to life, timid but alive.
Entry Five: The Moral
You taught me something, dear pool. Balance is not about dumping more chemicals, but about listening.
To the heater, silent but honest. To the pH, fragile but revealing. To the water, always telling the truth.
So here’s my promise:
To test twice a week. To clean before you cry out. To honor the hum of your heater and the pulse of your water.
Because you, my dear pool, deserve a caretaker who pays attention — not just a frantic fixer.
And when you finally hummed again, so did I.
