Ring of Fire

The last week I took part in an experiment. One which I never thought I’d have the moxie to do. Since I wrote “15 Diamonds” I have worn that ring, just about 9 months or so now. The very simple, delicate ring was bought with the intentions to be worn as my wedding band. Obviously life determined otherwise.   My choice, and continuance of wearing the ring on my left ring finger was filled with so many different reasons.
I didn’t want people to look at me and see me as the girl who failed.
I didn’t want to feel empty.
I didn’t want to let a beautiful ring sit.
I didn’t want the question “What happened?” when I talked of my wedding plans.
I didn’t want to accept the fact that I came so close to what I have desired for so long, and I had to let it go.
I didn’t want.
About a month ago it started to bother me. It had just served as the perfect reason for an unsavory fellow to leave my girl friend and I alone while walking down a street at night, but I couldn’t quite shake the thought from my mind that something wasn’t right.
After a bit of soul-searching I decided to swap the hand that the ring was worn on. After two days of attempting to wear it strictly on my right ring finger I realized that subconsciously I would continue to switch it back to the left hand.    There is no part of me which is sworn away to another. There is no one in my life who stands in the position as soul mate (or whatever one chooses to believe in). Rather, it’s simply me. I could no longer fake the fact. It was time to accept it as it is. The last week I’ve been painfully aware of a very small tan line, the lack of bling, and the sinking in of who I am right now.

No longer wearing the ring is a choice. A choice to accept where I am in my life. A choice to accept that there is something better out there for me. A choice to believe that someday I will once again wear a ring on my left hand, but when I do, it’s going to be the one I love from the one I love. Not a ring I bought for myself to match the wrong ring.
In the mean time, I may go back to wearing my ring on my right hand – but I first have to meet a few goals I have for myself. Oh how I love a reward!

Impressed?

Sinking. Falling. Drowning. Gasping… Standing in front of him I realized he had no idea the power his eyes held. The moment his hand had so casually found mine was just another breath he didn’t remember taking. As his lips grazed mine I wondered why my stomach reeled as it never had done before. With the slightest of touches he pushed my hair behind my ear. It was then that I recognized all I had shared with him already was enough.

The variety of my laugh.
The deepness of my eyes.
The slightest twitch of my ears to keep from smiling.
The absolute care for others.
The ability to be so intense on a specific subject.
The grace behind my movements.
The nerd which attempts to hide behind perfume and labels.
The assortment of my interests. 

Enough to impress, I suppose.
At this point, I’m forced to wonder – when did being impressive become my new standard?  I thought I was attempting to be exceptional. One who wouldn’t accept impressing someone as reason enough. One who didn’t want to impress, but rather reach incredibly high expectations. One who was devotedly chased.
What happened to that woman?

The Red-Head Obsession

The topic of my hair has become an overwhelmingly large fascination in the past 3 months or so. I can’t seem to meet anyone who does not comment on my hair color. I really am not sure where it comes from or why – I’m not entirely sure I want to know either. There are so many rumors about red-heads, part of me wishes I weren’t so rare, but then again I’d lose part of who I am.  Quite a bit of it goes back to Positively Unique – in which I embraced and explained one aspect in which I am a unique individual. What I seem to have failed to realize is – outsiders recognize uniqueness too.
What is the first reaction when we find something that is unique? We want to hold on to it forever and discover all of its qualities (well, that’s how I am at least). For some people out there though they just want to know if what they’ve heard is true. Those are the people who don’t understand true value. They may say they don’t understand how anyone could ever leave something – but then after their fascination is gone, so are they.
I’m over being thrown aside and forgotten about. I deserve more than just a passing recognition or to be the answer to all of your questions.

My oh my…

My heart has been torn open and to pieces multiple times.
My words come from someone who has lived and pushed through a lot.
My thoughts are those which prove I’m no average 23-year-old female.
My actions show how much I’m capable of love.
My hands are those which have grasped on to hope, and been forced to let go.
My eyes have seen the truth of this world, and continue to search for the good.
My soul has been lifted and cannot accept anything less.
My mind attempts to stay on the positives.
My being, is not one easily forgotten, damaged or belittled.

I’ve lived a life. Why is that so hard to believe? Please, stop looking at my appearance and for once – just ONCE, listen to the words I say and the things my heart screams.