You sit in my hand and tell me stories.

I am not as I appear

Stories of ice and fire.

My colours fade here, away from my home

Stories from deep within the earth.

Only anoint me in the sea and you will see my true self

Stories of heat and pressure,

Once smooth, featureless, grey

Of torturous change,

Violence tore at my very structure, squeezed me until I wept

Of slow cooling,

My tears still glisten, and trace my scars with brilliance

A condensation of minerals,

I glow with the translucence of accumulated stress

The story of your journey from crucible to mountaintop.

The angles of my fractured existence plain upon my face

The story of your tumbling fall to the sea.

My pain worn smooth from repetition

Tell me your story.

Let me rest now

Your whole story.

Soothed by abrasion

So like mine.

Slowly giving up my identity to the sea