I feel too weary fight it at times, and as the salt water rises and licks long grooves into the tired rock, I sit and watch the waves crash with relentless strength against the grey stones that do not yield, but, as time goes by, wear down and down to the crystal shards that litter the ground at my feet.
I stare with heavy eyes at the tiny pieces of former strength that whisper against my bare feet. They click and slick against each other, rubbing each other down even as they lie in broken flints against the remaining, rounded stones. I stare until my heavy eyes mist and fog and I watch the mass of separate pieces mould and sink into a swirling sheet of grey-brown. A collection of failure. Until the glowing green catches my eye.
Out of the brown rises a bright fragment of brilliant colour. And as I cradle it in my palm, while the waves continue to crash around me and the stones rush and snap against each other, I hear the wind falter and the air grow calm. I gaze wonder at this flawed beauty in my fingers. And this is what I walk away with. Time and time again.