The moment has passed.

His ring grows in width at moments, there are times where it seems as thin as a blade of grass and others were it looks like the heaviest adornment I have ever seen him wear. I am detached from it's existence, but I can't help but notice it more often than not. It simply represents a question I have yet to ask. A question I don't want to ask, because the answer is so painfully obvious. Upon further scrutiny, I notice that he has two rings, one on each hand, one thick and silver, the other thin with a glint of gold. I watch his hands in wonder.

Which one is his wedding band?

Something in my soul is disgruntled by the idea, when I first met him he was a sorely needed distraction from a hideously disastrous relationship I was in at the time, my escapades with him set me free in a sense, fully confirmed just what I had suspected all along. So the presence of his wedding band held no consequence in my life.

But as I sit and stare at it, it detaches me more from him, it begs the question.

"What am I doing here?"

I am staring at a road with an obvious dead end, wasted energy I could be expending on another potential, on another road that might just lead me to the tip of the galaxy, but instead I am sitting pretty staring at a brick wall, enclosed in a box.

I continued to watch him, remembering all the things that had made him attractive in the first place, I smiled walking through a field of pleasant nostalgic daisy's, all representing the memories he featured in. I pick one up, and begin to pull of the petals. But before my finger even touches the first one they all blow away, the truth is undeniable.

There is nothing here.

Of course there could be sex, but what is sex to me? I'm not wanting for dick, and without desperation my patience slows my movements. There was no fire, there was no passion within me, I didn't really care, my eyes drew back to his ring, watching his hands move animatedly, not listening to whatever it was he was saying, eyes trained on the golden ring.

Simple yet thunderous.

I didn't want to admit that that ring was his fatal flaw, was perhaps the reason I had lost all interest, that that ring represented a side of him, of all humanity, that I loathe. And as I sat and remembered all the beauty he created within my life, the window of my memory laced itself with the ring, and all was tarnished as respect was immediately lost.

What could possibly be his reasoning?

I looked down to my lap, suddenly sickened to my stomach, I didn't want to hear a reason, there was no reason. My resolve steeled as the fire grew.

He was such a brilliant friend. Always made me laugh, always made me smile when I was feeling down.

A brilliant friend.

But a hoe.

And we don't love these hoes.