Phantom limb

When we first talked about getting divorced I took my ring off.
It seemed like a lie to wear it.

I mean what was the point?
You had broken all the vows that were associated with it.
Did I really need a piece of paper to tell me the marriage was over?

Actions speak louder than words.

And when you held the paper still for me to sign,
because my hand was shaking in rhythm with my sobs,
I knew.

It physically hurt to take the ring off, the ache of missing it almost unbearable at times.
I loved having that symbol on my finger as a reminder to me.
As a notice to others.

Once removed,
I never realized how much I touched it with my thumb for comfort.
Or did I start to do that when it was gone?
Searching in vain for something no longer there.
Like scratching a phantom limb.

Just because something is removed from you doesn't mean you'll stop feeling it there.

When I couldn't sleep at night, those first few months,
I would slip the ring back on my finger and off to sleep I would drift.

And when I'd wake
for a moment all would be o.k..
for a moment I would forget what you had done to us.
for a moment I was floating in ignorant bliss.

And then it would hit me that the ring didn't look right on my finger.
And I would remember everything.
And I'd take the ring off and feel the emptiness again.

It took me a long time to put the ring away.

Even longer to go back to it.

I knew it would be opening Pandora's box,
but I wanted to see it.
I wanted to put it on.

Problem is,
it still fits.