A box, small and unassuming,
holds more than metal and stone.
Three rings, each a chapter closed,
a story whispered, then silenced.
The first, a Hawaiian sun,
gold warm against my skin,
a maile leaf lei etched in enamel,
a promise of island days,
a love as bright as the tropic bloom.
But the bloom faded, the sun set,
and the lei withered, a memory
of sand and surf, and a love
that sought solace in another's arms.
The second, silver, a simple band,
smooth and cool against my finger.
A barrel, strong and unadorned,
like the love we built, or so I thought.
A quiet strength, a steady hand,
a foundation laid, brick by painful brick.
But the foundation crumbled, the walls fell,
and the silver tarnished, a reflection
of a love that found comfort elsewhere.
The third, titanium, cold and hard,
dragons entwined in gold, a symbol
of power, of a love that burned bright.
A fierce embrace, a passionate fire,
a connection that felt unbreakable.
But the fire dwindled, the dragons slept,
and the titanium grew heavy, a weight
on my hand, a reminder of a love
that sought warmth in another's gaze.
Children grown, their laughter echoes
in the empty rooms of my heart.
Their friends, once my own, now strangers,
their lives moving forward, while I remain
anchored to the past, a silent observer.
A long-distance love, a whispered promise,
a fragile thread connecting two souls,
but the distance stretches, the thread thins,
and the whispers fade into the wind.
I stare at the box, at the rings within,
each a symbol of what was, what could have been.
A new ring beckons, a design forming
in the depths of my mind, a symbol of hope,
of a future yet unwritten.
But doubt whispers, a serpent in my ear,
was it me? Was I not enough?
Or were the circles simply incomplete,
destined to break, to shatter, to fade?
The Weight of Circles, heavy on my soul.
