It’s always the same. You sit patiently under the glass, with a little tag beside you, and lights shining on you, and you wait. Then one day, a nervous looking man or woman scans over all of us, focusing mostly on the little tag with the numbers on. The lady with gloves on takes you out, and you’re analysed, then you’re put back. If you’re lucky enough, there’s a nod, and a credit card is passed over. You’re shut up in a box and tied in a little bag with pink ribbon and a bow. Sometimes you’re hidden in the wardrobe, an underwear drawer, the glovebox of a car, a gym bag, a locker at work. Then, when the time is right, you sit neatly in a pocket, next to a shaking leg and a beating heart. When you finally see the world again you’re met with watery eyes and an open mouth. Then you’re put on her finger and you fit! Of course you fit, you always fit. Then, with these two people, you make your way mercilessly through the lovers guide. You milk over catalogues filled with dresses and visits to churches and function rooms. You see the bad too, sometimes you might get taken off for the night, after shouting and crying, but you always get put back on in the morning. Then, one day, another ring, just like you, gets placed beside you. That usually marks it. The beginning of forever. Then you’re lucky enough to watch life unfold, little ones get taller, pets come and go, houses get painted then painted again, and throughout all of this, you represent the one thing that holds everything together. You represent the love.

At the end, the saddest end, you finally get taken off by somebody in a dark room, and in a small plastic bag you get passed down to the next. But the love never goes, because you never really did represent the love, it was all around, and it was inside, and though you’re worn, not quite as shiny as you once were, you were a part of that love, you were always there, and that makes you the luckiest one.