The water was cold but not as cold as me.
It glared at me that morning, its surface calm, yet accusing. As if it knew. And of course it knew. Pools always know. They are mirrors of our carelessness, our excuses, our little lies.
I dipped my toes in and shivered. The water recoiled from me like a lover betrayed.
I had shocked it last night, not properly, not thoughtfully. Just dumped the powder in, like tossing salt on a wound, hoping it would forgive me by morning. It did not.
Chapter One: The Cracks Beneath
The first sign came with the smell. Not sharp like it should have been. No, it was dull, tired. Like chlorine that had fought too many battles and lost.
The pH strips mocked me. Pale pink where they should have burned bright. My fingers shook as I held them, like holding a confession I wasn’t ready to read.
My filter sighed in the corner. I could hear it, humming a weary tune, clogged with the guilt of weeks. Leaves tangled in its basket like broken promises. I hadn’t cleaned it in how long? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want to.
The walls were slick under my hands when I tried to brush them. Slick with algae and regret.
Chapter Two: The Reckoning
I stood at the edge, watching my own reflection quiver under the weight of my neglect. Every ripple whispered the same question: “Why didn’t you care sooner?”
I thought I had done everything right. Shock once a week. Run the pump. Skim when the mood struck. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that what they say?
Apparently not.
The chlorine level had spiked and crashed, like my moods. The pH dipped with my motivation. The filter clogged in quiet protest.
When did I stop loving it? When did it stop loving me back?
Chapter Three: Redemption In Pieces
I grabbed the brush again. Scrubbed like I was trying to erase more than algae. The water splashed against me, sharp and cold, biting my skin as though it, too, was angry.
I vacuumed every corner, every crevice, dragging guilt across the floor until it disappeared into the drain. I emptied the baskets, fingers pruned and raw from wet leaves and forgotten debris.
I balanced the water slowly this time. Measured. Drop by drop. Like an apology.
The pool watched me in silence. Waiting. Testing.
Chapter Four: Lessons The Water Taught Me
As the sun rose higher, the surface began to shimmer again. Not perfectly but enough. Enough to feel like maybe, just maybe, it would let me back in.
I realized then that this was never just about water. This was about me. About how easy it is to neglect something beautiful when you assume it will forgive you forever. About how little mistakes pile up, like leaves in a skimmer, until the weight of them stops the flow completely.
Pools demand presence. Patience. A willingness to look your own laziness in the eye and say: “Not today.”
They teach you how to care, really care. Not just when it’s convenient. But when it’s hard. When you’d rather look away.
A Confessional Love Letter
To my pool,
I’m sorry. For every time I shocked you without testing first. For every filter I let clog until you couldn’t breathe. For every leaf I let sink because I thought I’d get to it later.
You deserved better. You still do.
Thank you for holding me accountable. For showing me what neglect looks like reflected back. For forgiving me enough to let me try again.
The water was cold but not as cold as me. Until now.
Moral Of The Story
Your pool is more than a body of water. It is a relationship. One that mirrors how much,or how little, you care.
When the pH is wrong, it will tell you. When the filter is choking, it will sigh. When the chlorine is weak, the algae will bloom like an accusation.
Listen sooner. Act faster. Love it enough to learn what it needs.
Because one day, you’ll wake up to icy water and a heavy heart. And you’ll understand what it feels like when the pool starts treating you the way you’ve treated it.
And when that day comes, you’ll clean. You’ll balance. You’ll mend.
And maybe, just maybe, the water will warm to you again.
