When I was thirteen my father gave me a ring with the word “Love” engraved in it. I suppose you could call it a “purity” ring though that’s hardly what it is to me now.
Sixteen years after I first got it, it is still on my finger, dulled and all too familiar. I am looking at it as I write and am reminded of the one time in all of those years that I took it off. It wasn’t out of defiance…In fact, it was more of a natural response than a conscious decision.
I had realized that the ring that once represented hope, promise, purity and an unwritten romance now represented heartache, discouragement, fear and shame.
I slipped it off of my finger and put it on my dresser. I’d look at it from time to time. I’d pick it up and run my fingers over the now…
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