Long awaiting, time has been hating, swirling in all directions.
Looking ahead, smashing face onto keyboard, pointless speech.
Glancing down, at three fingers, all wearing rings of purpose.
On the left, smallest finger lies a liar, faded and clear purple stone.
On the wedded finger, sits class of two-thousand and fourteen, deep emerald-green stone, name engraved on the inside.
On the right “ring” finger, shines a promise, an agreement. Though on the wrong finger, it reminds me that I have to decide really, even though I already agreed.
The liar is still there, captivating my heart, though he doesn’t love me.
Class of two-thousand and fourteen still has a year yet, although I fail to think I’ll walk down the isle when it comes.
My fiancé is still here, inside me everywhere I go. But honestly…I don’t know if I do feel anything he does.
In fact, how can I walk down a white isle, when I haven’t even walked down the green, class colored isle; cold, empty seats awaiting many pathless souls to rest upon them.
Can I gain some type of initiative towards falling for him as he does to I?
Or shall I continue screaming at my hands,
the rings taunting me with decisions I cannot make…
© Copyright 2017 Emily Johnson. All rights reserved.
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