Shiny things don’t frighten me. They dazzle and bewitch my eyes. They fill me with possessive thoughts and wants and needs.
I love shiny things and that is my truth.
He proposed and offered me a ring of precision cut glass and diamonds and silver.
An irrational fear came over me. I broke out into a cold sweat. My heart pounded. And I wanted to throw that ring into the nearest ocean and run far from it.
But I told him the truth instead. “I can’t marry you. Not with that ring.”
He closed the box and I sighed with relief. “Why?”
“I just can’t.”
“I can’t afford another ring. It’s this or nothing.”
“Then.” I looked into his hazel eyes. “It’s nothing.”
He regarded me with stone faced anger. “There’s someone else.”
“No. It will always be you.” I shuddered. “But that ring…”
“This ring is beautiful and rare.”
I couldn’t reply to that.
“It belonged to my grandmother and it belonged to her mother and her mother and—”
“It doesn’t matter how many generations of mothers it belonged to. I can’t take it. ”
How could I explain such an irrational fear? I took the box and reluctantly opened it again. This time, however, I wasn’t afraid.
No. It was worse.
I saw the truth.
I saw the truth and it broke my heart. Because I could finally see the ring’s beauty. “This ring doesn’t belong to me.”
“It belongs to someone else. Someone you were meant to love.”
“But I want you.”
“I love you and I always will.”
“We aren’t meant to be.”