Written for the weekly writing challenge.
I turn the ring over in my hand. Enclosed by thin bands of gold, tiny silver leaves twirl around in the space between. It weighs almost nothing. Was this the measure of her love? I look closely, see how the inner gold is worn and moulded by her hands, see the patina of wear on the minute leaves. Hard work, love and caring have left their mark.
It’s so small! Were her fingers really that small? I don’t remember. All I can see is her face, lined and soft as she leaned in to kiss me. I can feel her soft cheek, smell her perfume. I can hear her laugh as she told a funny story and her voice as she told me to stay safe and be brave.
I feel a pain in my hand and look down, finding that I’m clutching the ring so hard, it hurts. The leaves blur as warm tears slide down my face. I slip the ring onto my little finger, taking one last look at the grave.
“Goodbye Granny,” I whisper. “I miss you already.”
Copyright M Brizzolari
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