I'm stuck with a locket around my breast. Conversation is still normal, maybe more so, hiding the stone's heft.

The idea of teaching more, trying more to be understood. To say outloud, "Lineage." To wonder why and how lineage matters; and who's lineage; and direct lineage; or cousins of cousins. I'd like to talk about lineage, but do I know enough about it? A little more than the next, perhaps.

Grandchildren mean the buckle of lineage. How does a third generation inherit? How do I invest in them? How do I bequeath to them? What do I bequeath? 

I never thought of it; and if I did, not ever how, or what, just it. It cannot be spontaneous but deliberate. Not random but intentional. Not nebulous but meaningful.

What is my legacy of true love? Do I have one? Is it something one feels or is it an external one? Are there heirlooms that come with it, or documents held in faith? How and what do I pass on as my legacy? Do I leave a will, an inheritance?

Can true love be enveloped? Leather-sheathed? This is my locket wrapped around my breast. Brave. Amending. Granted. Valuable. Legatary. The blood of blessing. It shall not die with me.

Love, the fire inside the stone.


​10:46 AM September 3, 2026, Thursday