diamonds

We never know if we are diamonds in the rough, unpolished and undiscovered. Someone has to find us. Or we find ourselves, but it is hard to pick through our own crusted, tarred emotional scars and chip through to our own inner brilliance. A passionate diamond, burning with all the rawness of a fire sputtering to live. I stoke my own fires, even through searing and exquisite pain, in hopes for even a pin-sized facet of brilliance. I desire a vibrant life, if only minutely so.

We are not who we pretend to be. We are diamonds waiting to be mined, pearls begging to be unclamped from our stifling shells, bubbles waiting to be blown into life.

We are luminous souls, but not all are stadium floodlights. Some of us are but the soft leftovers of a falling star or the minute specks of light skipping like stones on a glistening pool - subtle but always enough to make others stop and stare.