Earnestly skimming the Internet for ideas and springboards of societal pieces to wax poetic into my eventually finished book about this whole mess of a life of mine, I was stopped in my literary tracks by an obnoxiously beautiful piece of art. Trend jewelry. Of all things. Which, if you saw my jewelry box you'd see half pairs of earrings and pieces my mother left to me.
I don't qualify as a jewelry person. I like it, but am far to choosy to let art haphazardly adorn my bones. But this, oh this, calls to me. This piece beckons my right ring finger with relentless whispers. What does this say about me that my soul ring match is a black onyx?
If you'd like to purchase it for me, David Yurman has it waiting for you (size 5.5 please)