Kelf’s Arcanum – The Ring

For more information on what the “Arcanum” is all about, visit the main category page.

Style: Short Story
Time to write: –

Subject: Emotionally Tied Items
Inspirations: Past experiences, fiction out of the real

The Ring

Human behavior is ever so weird. We somehow manage to emotionally tie ourselves to physical things, romanticizing their very existence, giving them meaning and more substance than they would ever have just by existing on their own. This, in many cases, comes in the spoken word form of an heirloom, a totem, a relic, a sigil, an artifact, a memento or pretty much anything else you might want to call it. The reason why I am making this whole disclaimer of an explanation though is because it is very difficult for anyone to explain their deep and meaningful connection to the item that they hold so close to their heart. Be it love or hate, it is hard to put feelings down in words. Even if you do manage to describe something like that, you are still afraid you might taint it with a new word or a new color that might stick to your brain from there onwards.

The ring is my totem. I did not find it. I did not buy it. It was not created with the purpose of being given to me. I did not create it, but I did ask for it and it was thus given to me at a time I least expected it. Simply said, it is an item that unlike most others I’ve carried with me everywhere, it reminds me a lot of things that I really want to remember. I say that, understanding that us, human beings, very often feel the need to forget, even the most happy of moments, just because they are tied to certain faces or other feelings that we feel we should better forget. This ring however, on top of reminding all the things that it does and having so much narrative bound to it, it also means the exact opposite of what I just described. It reminds me that I do not want to forget. It reminds me that I do not want to let go. Who is to tell me what I should and should not let go of in my life? I am the master of my own existence and as much as fate may elude my neatly woven thread here and there, I get to be the one who chooses his path and alongside that the feelings that come with it.

The ring is my memento. The ring serves as more than just a reminder though. If I were to put it simply, with just a couple words, it would do it little to no justice and would even offend the very act of it being given to me. No, a mere paragraph would be a lame excuse of an explanation for it. It serves purpose that although unbeknownst to most, it carries weight unlike any other in the world. I feel like I could be Tolkien, writing books upon books explaining the power this ring holds, but I will not do that. I will not, because parts of it should and will remain a mystery to most. The ring does not just remind me of the person who gave it to me. Not just what that person meant to me. It reminds me of so much more.

The ring is my symbol. It holds the essence of my very being, reminding me what I am capable of doing when at my best, or at my worst. What kind of uncanny powers I wield when I am in that kind of emotional state and the lengths that I am able to go to should I ever have to protect what I feel. It makes me impulsive and kind. It forces me to be cunning and smart. It indulges me in love and compassion. It is a reminder of how far I can go for love and how far love can take me. Love is a strange word though, ever so changing in the minds of pretty much anyone that was lucky enough to even experience a splinter of it. So, even if what I feel is not “love”, what I do know is that it was strong enough to shake my very existence.

The ring is my relic. It is something I hold in my hands when in pain or when in joy. It is above all else an item that channels feelings I was not even aware I could have. It makes all other things feel like a lie and it gives purpose to my life. Such unbearable weight that many a time I have considered burying it so that I am rid of this unequivocally full of meaning burden. Alas, I could not. I tried in and despite the valiant battles I gave with my mind, my heart kept winning. It is something I need. Something I cannot go without in life. Should I ever lose it, the pain of missing it would be as strong as the feelings that I get from just holding it in my fist.

The ring is my token. A token of hope. Hope that tells me one day things will be alright again and I would be able to feel things as strong as those I once felt. Hope that won’t allow every other crushing experience to wear me down. Hope that clings to the heart like poison, pretending it is trying to heal it when all it does is keep it in a state of ever frozen pain. I indulge in that pain and I exercise patience.

People change. The ring will not. The meaning it carries will never change and over time, it will serve as the everlasting reminder of things that were and things that might never be again. Being appreciative of the people is not as easy as it is to love the things they left behind but we need to learn and adapt to new realities. We need to adapt.

Or so people tell me. The ring tells me I need not change. I should wait for her to call.

No notes on this one. It’s been a while since I last wrote a piece and I really wanted to change it up, but being tired from the new internship and all that hasn’t allowed me to shift my thoughts as much as I expected I would. They are still pretty set on certain things that I want in my life and I’m therefore pushed towards writing things like this again.

Next week I should be in a much calmer and steadier schedule, so I will hopefully get back to trying out new things.

~Konstantinos “Kelfecil” Christakis

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