Pocket Rocks

It first happened in 2008, this time though it’s the men who are telling me I am beautiful and gift their pocket rocks ,grounding and soothing me.

The black cubed rock is from a man that saw what he wanted, but the rock was too big, so he hammered it away to two fist sized edged blades.

The other is from a man that served , he has a sobering history , and is awake at night to gather egg shaped rocks that glimmer with any light source, including a smile.

It is not well to be deemed beautiful while in pain, but this may be the last stone , the last nodule of our evolved empathic system .