repeat. 

Once I did it, I didn’t want to stop. That feeling hasn’t come over me in a while. Years, actually. I think about the faces and their big golden hearts. I think about how gold is easily bent, but they still remain valuable. I look down at the one in my own hands- red. I am not gold. I am not a fine metal. I am red. As I’ve said countless times, I am red as red can be. A ruby.

You see, a ruby is the stone of kings. It was said to bring strength and wisdom. But what happened when that ruby fails to do it’s job? Be powerful and strong, but no longer can. A ruby is something beautiful to look at but no longer holds that same worth if it does not grant all that it said it would.

Once I did it, I didn’t want to stop. Picture it: a ballet. We sit in the mezzanine. The ballerinas move out onto the stage wearing bright red head pieces and frilly costumes. The dance begins slow. Almost frightening. Suddenly, it picks up. The dancers execute 20 turns at a time before moving to their next spot on stage. More dancers appear with every move. Hundreds of ballerinas dancing as one. The curtain closes. There’s something different this time. As I wake in the morning, my feelings have not changed. “Again,” I say. As if the first time didn’t touch me at all. I can change my clothes, change my hair, be given something I’ve always wanted- but I always end up thinking about the ballet. How the dancers multiplied with every step. Rubies. Beautiful little rubies. It’s like I’m a track stuck on

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