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Visibly shaking

I try to steady my hands but it doesn't work.  
Nothing works.  
Where once there was warm breath flowing over softly parted lips there is now only ashen remains  
Sifting through the debris I find that the jewel
The gift I was once given
Is gone  
The amber that encased it
That I tried to use to protect it
To own it
To possess it
Has melted away
And the most precious jewel itself is missing.  
Taken, I believe...
I fear...
I most bitterly dread.  
The lapidaries that once cut this most precious stone were fools, I think, but fools much like myself
Standing in line for just the chance to be acknowledged
To become real for a moment
To be loved.  
Each facet that they left catches light in a most peculiar way Casting colors on the wall
Painting images of foregone times holding the most innocent of intentions
The very flowering of love in its purest of forms.  
So many colors
So many images
So many times that I will never know.  
But, when I held her
When it was my turn to cut my story into her
To divert and shape her light
I also thought it was my gift to set her in a ring to keep
To marvel at and never have to stand in line again to be loved  
Her words became mine and mine hers.  
It was MY TURN to cut my story into her!  
Why wasn't she holding still?  
I treasured her!  
I set her in gold!  
Fate had given her to ME  
I had the proper tools and I was as skilled as any of those other fools!  
But my part in this story was of so much more importance.  
Or so I wanted to believe.  
All the while I paced
Convincing myself of the royalty of my role
Unbeknownst to me another polished his place
His facet
His unfinished side and story
Until it became clearer
And in its clarity a nuance captured the same emotion after which my setting had given chase  
The rabbit went down the hole
So very late for its important date
And thereafter...
The etching,
The cut,
The wound,
Would tell  
The gold turned tarnished and all my efforts to clean it
To erase it
Would matter none.  
I took her out of the ring and discarded it
Saying out loud for myself to hear
It was no longer fit for her
I have set her in the vise and am now preparing to make my cut again
But my hands are shaking and nothing I do to try and steady them is working.
Written by PierreTheMad
Published
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