fit
For seven years, I have worn this gold band. It was inexpensive, relatively thin, unadorned. It is the only ring that has ever fit me perfectly, no matter the weather, no matter my mood. I have usually enjoyed the wearing of the ring, proud to provide, to protect, to love.
The woman who slid this ring on my finger is a goddess. She is the manifestation of passion, driven to experience, excel, and remains undaunted in her petty defeats. I beheld her with admiration and adoration. She was, for these seven years, my closest, best friend.
I fear this friendship is over, in the wake of the dissolution of our marriage. I chose the harder, truer way for once, deciding to admit that I loved, but was not in love. I knew the words would press against her chest, constricting her breathing. The alternative was to lie each morning and each night, to tell her I was in love with her; and then for the truth to surface, as it is wont to do, some years hence when the blow would be deadly.
I truly, and always will, love you, my friend, mother of my children. I hope that you will see that someday through the veil of my deception.
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