The diamond pen of your honesty haunts my soul, digs deep and penetrates the remains of my being. You speak the words I do not always wish to hear, but so desperately need to… picking at my scabs and buried wounds until they once again bleed a golden blood full of healing.
The diamond pen of your honesty is a welcomed and simultaneously resisted part of my life. I cover my ears, cry and yell ‘No! Take this pen away!’ And still, I so need to grasp it, feel the crisp cut of the diamonds between my fingers and write a new way of being.
Reluctantly, I begin. Again and again writing, delving into the depths and seeking the wisdom that pours from your quill. What will emerge from the ink? Which shadow will move into the light? What piece of me will forever be changed?
I wish to lose the pen sometimes, or cast it away, but even when I try — it always returns more brilliant and shimmering with possibility than the last time I gripped its diamond-cut shaft. Lose it, I will not. For without the diamond pen of your honesty, I would have no map to my soul.
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