Diamonds are forever; it's the people who change.
Let's start with the most dim and irrelevant thing and tilt, until we catch that elusive gleam.
A lighthouse
a foghorn
The day I was born
The last night
Of a past life
I no longer mourn
Send out a warning
My seafaring soul
Give me back the morning.
The sun cut through my window like a blade and settled across my bed. Like spreading butter on toast. Good morning my dear, dear, dear, dear Samaritan girl.
White girl
french bread
hello my dear one where is your head?
The sun. That one gold coin you put in your back pocket to last you the night. That one gold coin you find against the pavement, at your feet. At dawn. Your head, thrown loosely on your shoulders to last you the day. Your diamond, babe. Time to give it away.
I might have mentioned before that I gave away my last few 50 dollar bills not so long ago.
Then I sold my diamond wedding ring to a man who paid me in 50 dollar bills. It was on the same street corner where the old lady used to beg for change. The same street corner I gave my last one away. I thanked him for all those 50s to put back in my pocket. He said to me;
"hard times...I can tell...so sorry."
I told him not to be sorry. He ignored my plea, and continued... "so sorry...good luck miss."
No sir. Good luck to you.
On my way to the bank, I started doubting if the 50 dollar bills were real, and the man and his apology reflected in my rear view mirror.
"Grandma..? I'm very worried this money is fake. This sympathetic man has tricked me. How real even are these 50s?"
"As real as you want them to be my love. As real as you make them."
It was a man who bought the ring, and a woman who helped me open a new account at the bank wherein to transfer the cash. From my back pocket to my breast pocket.
The man was sorry.
The woman on the other hand, reflected the sparkle. She was there to ping the light and to not feel sorry.
As she helped me we talked. And I came to learn that she had been in a very similar situation to me. And because of that she knew, as well as I. We were golden. We were just fine.
But then she asked me...
"How long were you married?"
And she said...
"Well I gave my ring back"
She's judging me. She's judging me. I felt this creeping in and that sorrow and she saw it in the gleam in my eyes. She quickly reassured me.
"I understand."
"I'll be the judge... I'll be the judge" Grandmother whispered.
There are men out there who will never understand...
let them buy the ring.
Let them sell it for more
and the more money they make,
the more you are free.
The happier the woman who might wear the ring
or the more they melt it back down to nothing
The less sorry you and they will all be.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I sold my ring.
Leave your old ring to the Diamond King
So you can totally be the girl
Whose waiting on some giant pearl
that's almost always never whole
but when it is, it knows your soul
and you can feel the gentle pull
that shifts the tides
a new kind of bride
the glowing moon
you make your groom.
A diamond or a pearl?
it's up to the girl.
It's up to the girl...
I'm the message in a bottle out at sea
But I'm still wondering what my message will be
No matter who reads it
No matter who sees it
The words. What will they mean.
What of the man
Who so long ago
Got down on one knee?
For me.
He's still a King.
Just not mine.
Just like the old diamond ring.
There is a voice that whispers, as many times as the waves crash onto the shore...
"You Are Not A Queen."
I pray to God no one finds me like this, breaks me open, to read these words. They will give me back.
To rid myself of these whispering words, I fed them to the sharks. Over, and over, and over again. And they just got closer and circled me in. They so loved my uncertainty. They'd never have enough.
"The 50s Are Fake."
"They will come back for more, Dear Sam. Forever and ever. It's not your job to feed the sharks.
People will stop feeling sorry, when you stop apologizing."
The voice was as salty as the ocean itself.
It was a new voice that said these words. It was not Grandma, and I can be certain, because she never accompanies me to such places. Somehow I knew that the girl speaking to me now was my granddaughter. And I can be certain, because she really needed me.
A forghorn sounded again and again. It was her.
A small beam of light cut through the darkness and the mist. It stayed a steady stream, like a blade. Ready to cut me.
The sharks were ready to feed.
I treaded water.
I had no proper message. I had no apology.
I swam toward the sound,
the horn got more clear and more pronounced
all other whisperings it drowned out
It beckoned me
only the way it would a queen
whose castle is a lighthouse.
And I am the keeper
The only keeper
I am the beacon
And I am the swimmer
My crown is the Catwalk
I am the reflector
I am the diamond
And I am forever.
From the wilderness to the ocean, sun down to sun up, washed up, washed up, to a pretty little cliffside.
A lighthouse kingdom.
"Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning."
The grass was as green as emeralds.
The sea and the sky collided in turquoise.
A ruby red stripe wound up the hightower...
And off in the distance, into the trees, onyx, all around.
Wilhelmina of the woods;
You have been found.
Your wandering days are far from over
But you're free to stick around.
Wilhelmina, all in black
Barefoot, and such a gem
We will never give you back
Or sell you off to them.
❤️💎🏰♦️♦️
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