The Pool Builder

She was the pool builder, imagining their shapes into being. One strange structure rose high above earth and sea level. Like giant seashells turned inside out and formed into shallow cups, several pools rested upon staggered towers pouring water from one level to the next, like a psychedelic sea inspired garden fountain. Another was set deep in the earth in an L formation. She dreamed them, forged them out of nothingness and swam in their tepid waters testing the designs, searching for the one that most pleased her. It was an endeavor to create a home for her soul, a shape more familiar than the primordial womb. A body harmonious with her being in which she could dwell. And she could dwell in no other place but these that she had created. To step out was unthinkable, perhaps impossible. In any body that she could create, she could swim freely. Beyond that she was restricted. Her appearance could change as easily as that of any pool she could inhabit. Most of the time she was invisible, as crystal clear as the waters through which she wound her way. In other moments, she was a translucent maiden with long flowing golden hair, barely more perceivable than a ghost lingering at the edge of a pool, gazing out at the wider world.
Her agent in the walking world, in those domains which existed without her effort, was called White Wave Of Love. She was of elfin stature, petite and wiry with big brown eyes. Her hair, long and straight was the color of polished mahogany. With an ever merry smile given freely, without reason, she moved briskly about. Hers was a great capacity for action and movement. She was the hand of the pool builder, able to move and arrange things outside of that watery world.
One day, the pool builder surfaced to peer at the world beyond. In the distance she could sea the real thing, the wild and raging sea. Walking steadily towards it was none other than White Wave Of Love. The pool builder called out to her trying to summon her, but white wave plodded on as if she could not hear. Her countenance was dismal, her shoulders slumped in resignation. The pool builder boiled with frustration. For a moment she imagined that she could leave the pool and grab the other, summoning her attention at last. It could not be however, and though the builder strained at the edge of the pool, White Wave took no notice. She walked on, crossing the sandy beach until she had reached the foamy shoreline. There she at last collapsed upon her back and lay motionless. She stared unblinking across the dunes of sand, her face resting in its moistened grit.
The tide began to roll in, slowly at first, overtaking her white sneakers and socks. She never flinched. Not even the slightest tremor or twitch disturbed her body as the waves lapped at her denim skirt reaching up to finger her white blouse. She had become as heavy as a lead statue. From the pools edge, the builder could feel all that White Wave felt, a deep and hopeless depression. A sensation of parched hollowness beneath the ribcage so strong that if felt like a physical illness. It was beyond doubt that love had left her and she was allowing life to leave her as well. From where she lie she was swallowed piece by piece by the rowdy sea. The pool builder saw through the stoney eyes of White Wave as the water tugged her away. With a sense of severe aggravation, she slipped back into her pool to swim.