Cracked Tungsten That Hugs Pure Silver
There is no greater honour than to wear this cracked tungsten that hugs pure silver.
It exists and encaptures nigh-half a life learning and living the art of love.
It is, irrefutably, an art for one does not begin a craftsman. They must always work at their practice.
I wear a ring that hangs on a necklace that shines brilliantly to all those that know me.
Three years this ring hugged my finger until it grew too big with experiences, so closer to my heart, it became. And for four years, it then hung there, swinging wildly through every life’s darkest and brightest moments.
A gift from a mother is cherished deeply like none other.
This now seven-year-old ring, a gift given for trudging through many moves and different schools, gained a friend. Perfectly sized to fit snugly within its interior, spinning and glistening as the tungsten once did.
It grew again, but this time, like wearer, like ring, it, too, learned to love.
A necklace had never held such meaning until these two came together upon my chest. It burns in the sun and freezes in the cold, but regulates the temperature of my heart.
It emits an infinitely comfortable aura that an onlooker must only inquire to feel its warmth.
A pure silver pendant imprinted with a rose and all its accoutrements.
A gift, now given unto myself, to represent my evolution into a man who so effortlessly has fallen in love. To which could find no greater home than within the ring that stands a sentiment of the love that came first. The love that curated and opened the door to this majestic world.
If two objects could exist as a story, there could be no grander allegory.
It is as simple to understand as pancakes and butter or breakfast for dinner, and I garner no distaste for that sense of reduction. For the feeling of it beating against my chest, synchronizing its rhythm, as I rest my head or as the titular rose herself brushes it gently out of the way to rest hers, is an inexplicably intense and complicated feeling.
They say to wear it on your sleeves, and I do have some shirts, but mine is on a chain.
I do not wear it lightly, and I do not wear it to receive the compliments I do. In fact, there are few compliments as, by all accounts, it’s a messy piece around one’s neck. But to all those who inquire, I watch as their faces soften in understanding and comfort.
And in that small way, the love that came first has touched another.
