When all becomes heavy, and you’ve made yourself so small that your pleas are like the voice of a mouse, remember: The sword must go through the heart, and you are to relish in this sweet ache, forever and ever, and that is a kind of survival. And when all is still heavy, and your pain is not the kind that will set you free, do not shun the hand of your loved one. For there is a kind of heart that can only be held with two hands. Both of them cannot be your own.

Love, loyalty, friendship
all promised in a ring.
Shimmering on your hand,
pointed inwards for me.
On one knee in Galway,
I have so much to say.
I’ll just ask, “Will you be
mine on our wedding day?”.x

I wear my loneliness on the ring finger of my right hand, upside down.
A beautiful reminder of
Empty coffeehouse booths and
Cold bedsheets, imprinted only by one.

Someone asked me what his name was,
Noticed my confused glare,
And nodded quietly towards my hand.
I had slipped it on without looking that morning,
Right side up,
Wearing a fake lover upon my finger.
I stammered as I turned it around again,
Reassuring them of my loveless heart.

Any stranger, near or far,
Can see my loneliness.
The brilliant emerald embedded only proves
To be a distraction.