A couple of weeks ago I lost the ring you put on my finger seven years ago. One afternoon my hand felt cold and naked and the letters of your name were nowhere to be found.
It saddened me not because I would lose you, but because of all parts of us that get infused into everyday objects. If one day you were looking for my voice, you should know I keep a stash hidden away in the belly of my guitar.
I didn't cry for my lost ring because I was actually happy to think that at least I still had you. But I felt melancholic thinking about it, and I wondered if in twenty years someone would find it at the bottom of a drain, or perhaps I'd find it when I gutted a fish just as I had read about in a children's book.
But I have never gutted a fish, and I suspect I never will.
Today the ring came back to me.
And my hand doesn't feel so empty anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment