I have a ring that I always wear on my little finger. It’s worth nothing: my 12 year old nephew made it for me years ago, and for that sole reason, it’s my favorite accessory ever.
I’ve lost it a million times. But, so far, I have always managed to retrieve it. Always. And whenever I come across it in the bottom of my backpack, on the corner of a shelf, inside my toilet bag, on the basin, wrapped around my scarves or trapped in the lining of an old coat, I somehow feel complete again. Without it I’d feel naked, under construction, out of focus, unfinished.
I have a ring that I always wear on my little finger. Sometimes I even manage to wear it on my ring finger, though it doesn’t reach the end of the phalanx, but I like to wear it that way. I have lost it a million and one times. Actually, I don’t even know where it is right now. But I know I’ll find it again. I always do.