We thought daisy chains and crowns were too mainstream, so we made santan rings. We would sip the nectar from the flowers and string them together in various colors. We were the stars of our own fairy tales.
There was once a young little boy, the brave prince with his twig sword and big heart.
There was once a young little girl, the beautiful princess in a bed sheet gown and a nectar-smeared smile.
Sometimes when there were a lot of red santan flowers we made santan chains and tied it around our little fingers and make promises of how our friendship would last forever.
A childhood as sweet as santan nectar.
I picked up a ring from the sidewalk today. It was cheap but it was pretty. I thought it would look nice on your finger, and there was no need for precious stones to make it more beautiful.
I saw an engagement ring on display in the jewelry shop we passed by on our way to work. I didn't say anything, but my eyes must have sparkled enough for you to kid that I must be a magpie in my past life and my love for shiny things. But we both know I was looking beyond the ring, and seeing the person who would wear it in the future. And somehow, in the back of my mind, I wished it was me. And somehow, in the back of my mind, I wished it was you who would give it to me. Down on one knee, sweet violin music playing on the background, a fireworks show when I say yes.
I must really be a magpie in the past.
The school bell rings and I tuck another love letter I wrote into my notebook, another letter I won't give to you after plans of confessing behind our school building after the school bell had stopped ringing--
wait, that was a different kind of ring.
We were in kindergarten and we played with Fruit Loops because it reminded us of how it looked like the wedding rings in our mothers' left hands, of how nice it would look like on our fingers. Too bad, even back then our fingers can't fit into them.
We said we'd find rings that fit us both perfectly.
I threw a ring into a river one day. It was full of broken promises, of promises of eternity that I thought I believed in. But circles, even though it had no beginning and no end, can be broken too.
Just like my heart.
Your voice, your question, that slight pause and hesitation.
"Can we give us a chance?"
It was all echoing, ringing in my ears--
wait, that's a different kind of ring.
We were sitting on a swing set in your favorite park where you said you had your first kiss, eating Roller Coaster chips and looking at the moon through the hole in each piece before eating bit by cheesy bit.
You turned to me, your face messy with cheese powder, and kissed me on the cheek but somewhere along the way you missed and we were kissing kissing. I mean without the tongue and all, but it was wonderful in the figurative sense and cheesy in the literal sense and I had all these thoughts running through my head and it felt perfect and cheesy in all sense of the word.
You pulled back. You were blushing. But we knew the other was kissing back.
"I'm sorry because I'm not sorry."
"...I'm sorry for not being sorry either."
"You taste like cheese."
"Wha--oh no, did I have chips in my teeth? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing."
Oh god you looked so beautiful.
When you went down on one knee and opened that box with that ring we both saw on the display window of the jewelry store, I started crying. Not because of the ring and how sweet you were. But because I was just. So. Happy.
I would marry you even if you put a pop tab on my finger, you adorable idiot. Took you long enough.
It was a simple band of gold, a small circlet of metal. We had matching ones on our left ring fingers. No inscriptions, no fancy jewels, no anything else.
It was--is--perfect the way it is.
We've found the rings that were--are--the perfect fit.