14 karats of gold shimmer up from the bed beside me. My hand looks so bare without it. Outside of a few months last year, this is the first time since I was 16 (maybe even longer) that my finger has been bare.
My fingers look so small and fragile without the band of safely wrapped around my finger. They almost look frail.
It’s not necessarily a permanent decision. It’s not one that I want shaping the next year of my life. It is a decision I have to make to keep myself sane.
It could be years before a different ring graces that finger and I don’t know that I can bare the constant reminder of everything that has happened. (Not even just with that band, but everything that band represents.)
My hand just looks to ill without it and I’m not letting go of my heart, where ever he has hidden it. As much as this reminder hearts, I’m just not ready to let it go.