The Ring

I received a ring in the mail the other day

It’s shiny and glistens in the sunlight

It makes everything look more put together

As jewelry often does

Recently I noticed it turned part of my finger green

A wire underneath incessantly sticks out and pokes into my skin

My finger swells around the ring

In protest of its presence

I consider the ring

The ring that makes everything prettier, more cohesive

The shiny glistening ring that shimmers in the sun

The pretty ring that hurts my hand

I don’t want my hand to hurt anymore

I tell myself as I lather my finger with lotion

The lotion allows the ring to easily slide off

Leaving my empty finger with a green stain and an indentation

The ring now looks much less shiny than it had before

The ring now looks much less intimidating

It was just a ring, all along

Has it always been this dull?

Rings aren’t made to last forever

I sighed, and threw away the ring

Because no one deserves to have stained fingers and pokey wires

And now the ring can never hurt again, defeated in the trash bin

But I can’t help but miss my ring

Not how it is but how it was

Or how I was

How different, I must’ve been, to think this ring was beautiful

How different we were, the ring and me