She’s my piece of obsidian. Always there, fully formed within my heart like a crystal embedded into the side of a mountain, warming it when it falls cold and dark, and cooling it when it overworks and overheats. She’s my piece of obsidian. She might be dark and edgy to the unappreciative eye, but those are unique and alluring traits that make obsidian so special to me. She’s my piece of obsidian. She’s speckled with gold or quartz or marble or crystalines on the inside of her core, beneath her pristine, sleek, and mesmerizing pitch black surface. She’s my piece of obsidian. Formed from the hottest of magma and coolest of winds through her experience of life. She’s my piece of obsidian. Solid and unwavering in her devotion and love. She’s my piece of obsidian. Someone I know I can turn over and squeeze in my palm for comfort and protection, knowing she will never crack or shatter. She’s my piece of obsidian. Her beauty is the color of onyx. I know the howling winds and driving rains in life will never erode her. She is my fully formed piece of obsidian, a beautiful example of it. She is my piece of obsidian and mine alone, to cherish, respect, admire, and love for all our years.
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