It was hundreds of years ago I suppose. I can’t quite remember. Time shifts differently for me, inconsequentially.

There were two different types of people that lived on either side of me. The western people and the eastern people. They were different, very different. And yet, exactly the same.

They hated each other. Nothing could bring them together, so instead they devised a way to be officially divided. It took about three years, gathering all that stone and all that mortar. It took another 15 years to build me. They all worked together tirelessly; they couldn’t wait until I was finished so they wouldn’t have to see each other anymore, so they wouldn’t have to talk to each other anymore, so there wouldn’t be anymore feuds about crossing each others lands.

They set up tents near me, living in their work the whole time. In the evenings everyone was in a good mood. They were making so much progress, and this was the time of day to rest and reflect on all of that. People would play their instruments and everyone would dance and sing.

There is a certain camaraderie that comes from sharing a laborious task. An understanding of one another that flourishes. They became quite close; westerners, easterners; somehow the building of a border wall had smudged and muddied the line even more than before.

I was finished and suddenly they found that they didn’t know who was who anymore. What side was this family supposed to be on? How about that family? There was no longer a western group or an eastern group, but instead just one group, with a huge wall in the middle of their land. I had been built to divide them, yet somehow I had brought them together.