I’m not flawless; my blush of blood is easily overlooked among a cool cache of diamonds. Piercing blue picks me out, nestled, unpolished, uncut among the glittering gems. His fingers approach, select me, lift me to eye level and the metamorphosis created by his touch transforms me, my secondary core colour, purple, reinforcing red, making it richer, darker, wanton, until at last, he clutches the beloved designed by his esteem.
“I guess you're too young to remember the summer of ‘76. I still have a million things to share with you. You know I miss you whenever we can’t connect.”
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