What is it about having to work at something that makes it taste sweeter? Can you imagine seeing this beauty hanging from a tree and resisting the desire to pluck it from the branches? How could you resist needling and digging your fingers into it’s thick pulp to reveal little glistening garnet gems (for which garnet itself owes it’s namesake)? Clustered like crystals, facets pressed against each other.
Sweet little gems of mystic symbolism, one gem of fertility, one gem of knowledge, each bursting under careless fingers or strong tooth. It’s impossible to not drip with juice and become stained and sticky. I like to tongue each surface while lolling about, imagining I’m a deity in a sunbaked land, feasting on polished stones, in the oasis I myself created.
