‘With the right man it would be okay, even the one and a half kids,’ you think, ‘But not with this loser who had nothing to show but to compliment you. And when you repeatedly turned his compliments aside, he didn’t stop but elaborated on them.’
You recall, at that time, because you were too young and too weak, how you took this baseless attraction as real. When you realized his compliments were not genuine and your attraction evaporated, hadn’t he made a scene and thrown a tantrum convincing your entire family, since he had endeared himself to all of them? Remember how you had become the black sheep of the family, because you rejected him? The strong pull he had exerted on you was nothing more than a control mechanism, like his sweet-talking big mouth.
Maybe that ring should stay where you threw it on the day you left Detroit; you, a girl broken and disappointed with the whole world.
Then you take another look at the ring and ask yourself a few more questions. Maybe what he says could be okay, but still, how would you like to re-live with a control freak as your mate? How could you trust him?
You look at this man’s face again. Is this what you missed? In that case, it is better to be missing it. Besides, look at the height of this guy. He is half your size; not someone you can tango with on the dance floor.
Wasn’t his height part of your rejection then? Remember that first kiss, the one you had to bend down to give it to him after he begged for it…”
No wonder in this place the shadows are dim.
“Buy the ring, please,” the rascal pleads again.
Shadows, this man is in shadows. What if you get stuck in these shadows with him and can never get out?
Therefore, you turn around and pick another object: a padded journal covered with pink and white checkered cloth with a lock and a key and a pink pencil attached to its size.
All of a sudden, this journal looks familiar. “No, not that one,” the man says as he blends into the shadows.
Now the salesperson is a middle-aged woman whose hair is tucked behind her ears.
“That journal belonged to a very special person,” she says. “It still has a few empty pages at the back that you can use.”
You open the journal and recognize the handwriting…your own.
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