A year ago he placed it on my finger.
Pulled me onto his lap and told me the words
every girl wants to hear.
I pulled it out today,
from the secret corner where I
save it for my daughter,
a reminder of the
powerful and passionate love
we once shared.
I wear it and cry.
Cry for all the dreams that were lost,
for all the hurt and pain I inflicted
and received.
Cry for the wounds that havent
scarred over yet.
Cry for my daughters path
and the obstacles she will face.
It is more dull than in my memory,
yet, somehow,
still shimmers and glistens.
The beauty untouched.
I am overcome with gratitude for the wonderful things he brought to me.
My daughter.
My hope.
My life.
The same forces that sent me down
the darkest depths of hell
lit my trail to track my footsteps.
Never the same,
yet never the same.
Never was I more proud than to wear this mans ring.
Did I feel more alive.
Did I feel more afraid.
Did I feel.
I fight to put it back.
Reluctant to remove it from
its perfect home.
Safely nestled in its box,
I hold it close and whisper out a prayer.
Doubtful of its possibility,
but addicted to its prospect.
Please, stay.
.
