Ideas crystallize into words—monocrystalline beryl letters that grow to a golden termination. Sharp by nature, not intention; and still they stick and stab. So easily and quickly formed. So seemingly fragile, yet impossible to destroy once hardened. Words that can’t be undone.
Here, as a trigonal crystal system, each utterance of a thought adds to the network of columns of aquamarine and dolomite that jut in every direction. Minerals that capture light to reflect soft teals and rainbows in the most brilliant of prismatic prisons. Pillars of stibnite, dark and shiny—an arm’s length away.
Around me crystals grow and spread with each exhaling attempt to explain, as if any emotion can be completely clarified. Words can never capture the pure essence of a thought, let alone a feeling, and each confession is only a vaguely translucent shade of cornflower striving to be transparent as new, longer hexagonal columns of emerge. Behind me. On the far left side.
There is no point in speaking now—or remaining silent. My presence is sufficient enough for this rhombohedral lattice to continue to grow. Maybe my eyes are too loud and leave me in this cage of rose quartz and amethyst and emerald. I sit, surrounded by minerals, and shrouded in rainbows and whispers of color. Buried by the complexity of feelings and the trappings of my own words. Waiting for time to weather all the fragments away.
this post is brought to you with help from spotify’s “deep dark indie” playlist