Diamonds in the Dark

 What I seek is no easy find. It is neither common nor mundane; it seeks no ambition, nor does it crave acclaim.

What I desire lives upon aged paper—an ancient scribble, a message that carved its mark. It is that shirt, outgrown but worn, bearing the stains of all I have endured. What I want clings and catches without effort; it lingers there, a thing to be touched.

It offers me grace, not gold; it grants the smile of true contentment—born of a willing heart, never of debt. What I want is neither bought nor coerced. It is a bounty—earned, conquered, dreamt.

It is the realm where "less" overflows with "more," where to subtract is to select, never to lose. Where choices are not merely options, but soul-deep decisions. What I want is the strength that honors the past while weaving the present—for the future is a ghost without the now. From whence I came, to where I stand, and thus, I shall become.

It is not tallied in notes, or currency, or cold accounts. It cannot be grasped by the hand; it is felt. It dazzles by its own nature—a glance, a sigh—when time is not merely spent, but savored. What I want is to harvest the "today" for all eternity; to mold and to polish, to carve until it glows. Or at least, until it shines. For a light may be shrouded, but never truly snuffed.

I pass it on, and I pass along—all that I find. I pass it on, and I pass along—all that heals me, and all I believe might heal you, too. I share with no hope of return, only the quiet breath of hope itself. Perhaps one day you will see it through my eyes.

What I want is to banish saudade, for that ache only blooms when the heart has already lost its treasure—when it has bled out and died. I remember yesterday as if it were a dawning tomorrow, held fast within me, beyond the reach of forgetting. I carry what I want, and I carry what I need.

Today, I am here. I risk, I absorb; I seek, and I find. As I said, it may not satisfy your hunger, or bring you comfort, or offer you answers—but it is what keeps me whole. It is what gives me peace.

What I want is to shutter my eyes to the noise I refuse to hear, for sometimes the smallest gesture or a stray glance speaks a wordless truth. They carry every secret from the marrow of your bones. What you feel, you exhale. You transcend.

From the hollowed drawers where I salvaged my memories, I carried a mere handful; the rest I kept within my chest—for no greater vessel exists.

I still wake in the deep hours of the night, hemmed in by longing, by quiet reckonings, by small triumphs and heavy failures. I still cry out into a void where, if nothing else, I can finally hear my own soul.

What I want is to arrive where I once dared to dream—a place kept close, walking beside me, where no hand can ever strip it away. These are simply my diamonds.

What I want is to no longer be seen as just a "wanting."

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