I had some free time today after lunch and I thought I swing by the National Library. "A writer ought to read." I told myself as I took the escalator down. It didn't take long for another revelation to slip in like a piece of paper into my back pocket. As I go from one shelf to the next, I was walking in a sphere, one made from the remnants of an engagement ring. All this time, I have been so gravely misguided and closeted up by my beliefs and experiences that none of books on the shelves or life called out to me. I was literally blinded by my selfishness to relive the past, to hold on to whatever patheticness that I am giving up on new experiences in life. One too many instances I would catch myself resisting change. I am convinced I can just be the way I am because there is nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing wrong with me, right?

A while ago, I found a ring in one of the letters Tara wrote. Again, I don't wanna say it's for me. They were something that was simply written. Sometimes I wish the letters never reach my hands. It did take Alex nearly a decade. Yet most of the time, I'm just so very relieved and grateful I got them at all. After all, it's a fraction of Tara, a fraction of something that I've lost forever. While it doesn't accomodate or fuel my sometime obsession and refusal to move on in life, some people argue that I should simply leave the content alone. What would you do?

Anyway, the ring was something Tara brought with her from home. Apparently, the little thing was calling out to her when she was passing by a fair. She was, at that time, contemplating in her mind whether or not to leave Germany. And that little ring told her the answer and sealed her fate. She booked the earliest flight out. You know, it was as if the ring had unknowingly imbued her with courage and strength from an unseen place. Now she had a name where that courage comes from; she called it the love of her life - me.

Me.

There was a little bump when I was retrieving the letter. I felt for it and a series of gold rings fell out and dropped into my hand. It looked slightly weathered, with a black rim and simply carved with a weaving pattern. I reckon the ring has stayed the condition Tara last saw it. It was gleaming in the light. Almost perfect, almost new and never worn. The keeper told her that she probably never find an identical set anywhere in the world. It was made for its wearer and only its wearer. She further wrote in the letter, expressing her thoughts and plans about the rings. It was something of grave significance, or at least it was supposed to be. Turned out, that ring too, was to seal my fate.

Yes, I will marry you. You have asked me many times in your dreams and yes, I will marry you a thousand time, a million if it's not enough...

Tara had been planning an engagement dinner behind my back. There was even an itinerary attached to a namecard of a restaurant. She was gonna propose to me over food and coffee, especially of the fact that we finally reconciled. "I do not believe myself capable of keeping myself away from you anymore. The past month has proved it." Granted, she was barely 18 and I was a little older than 15 then and this whole affair would have sounded absolutely ludicrous in someone else's ears but it sounded to me the symphony of life, our lives waiting to happen, our lives to be. After folding the letter back into the envelope, I tried the rings for size. Coincidently, it fit almost perfectly on my right ring finger. I wore it, decidedly for the rest of my life but apparently, I can't.

Just about a week wearing it, the rings started to discolour, leaving a dirty rust on my finger. I figured it must be telling me that Tara and I weren't meant to be. Now, I just strung the rings into my keyhole so I may carry them around whenever I go.