The diamond in the dirt decided it was time to come clean. It had spent much borrowed time burrowed deep in obscurity. Of course, this newfound urge to stick its head above ground would not mean it must emerge to peek dangerously out from a hole in a snake pit. Venom corrodes the purest of jewels; the diamond will not let itself be tainted. No, it is much too pristine and rare a thing for such mistreatment. The precious stone would do laps within its inner marathon grounds, lest it lapse into atrophy. It was a trophy that it would award itself. On a daily basis. Life would be a breeze. With every zephyr that condescended to caress its softly gleaming exterior, and with every purr elicited, would catalyse its dogged commitment to petting itself with feeling care.
And the breadth of its breath would serve to be its daily bread.