It was the tiniest piece of quartz. I had found it when I was a teenager, swimming in a little hole in a freshwater creek. And I'd kept it ever since. I'd taken great care to be aware of it, but eventually I'd come to put my crystals in a small bag, which hasn't been opened for some time.
I now found myself doing something I hadn't had to do in years—search, on my hands and knees, for a tiny piece of transparent stone! And what's worse is now I have carpets.
We'd always had hardwood floors, but now, having moved out on my own, I have a nice brown carpet... with subtle green splashes that look like watercolor. It's very dark, and easy to forget to vacuum. Cool pattern, though-very trippy.
There I was on the floor, searching through a small box, a few socks, several canvases and frames, a palette made of glass and board, and the legs of my clock stand for my little crystal. It had stayed with me for all those years. And now it seemed like I'd never find it.
I started having thoughts about how this was exactly what I deserved, keeping it in that bag all those years. I also thought this could be an analogy for what's wrong in my life. I'm obviously missing something. This could be the universe talking, and I really oughta listen.
I know I heard it hit something... ...something that wasn't carpet... ...It must have hit something.
I'd been missing love from my life. Love for a companion. Love for myself. Love for my work, my life.
I thought about the people we had lost. I'd always believed they were around. I know they are. They watch over us all, and sometimes you're just about aware of it.
I searched, in vain it seemed, for my lost crystal. I rubbed my hands all over the floor hoping to run across it. I checked other directions, in case it took a strange hop on its way to rest. I tilted the palette, and let it drop back against the little desk, where I keep my clock. Something touched the palm of my down-turned hand. It had bounced off the carpet and hit my hand... like it fell out of the sky.