Lord of My Ring

There are about five people who will understand every word of this blog. 

Every day for almost the last three years I have worn a silver ring given to me by someone very important. It was a hand me down, and means more as such then it could have had it been bought with me in mind. For what it means to me now, for what it meant before it was mine, for what it meant the night I put it on it is one of very few possessions I would find myself hard pressed to ever part with. 

My ring reminds me of who I am,

Where I've been, 

Where I'm going,

and in case I could ever forget, it's inscribed with my name.

For the last year for very specific and under very symbolic reasons I have been wearing it on my ring finger. 

For a very, very brief period of time after returning home to the States I tried for selfish and silly reasons to move it back to my right hand. It only last for an hour, there was something so...off about it. It didn't belong on that hand anymore. I told myself I would loyally leave it on my ring finger until it was not physically possible for me to wear it there any longer. Whatever that reason may be.

As I have been running and changing my diet and more honestly the newest bout with Mono I've been losing weight. I've noticed it the most in my fingers. 

Today my ring fell off.

Thankfully as it's slowly grown to almost become part of my body, my nakedness was felt immediately without it and I grabbed it quickly. I put it on my next thickest finger, the middle finger right next to it. 

My ring finger feels lost without it. The only reminder is the small indentation and the faint tan line that still attest to the fact it was once there. 

For some reason, that makes me a little nervous.