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▗▜ He gave you a ring, and you'd slipped it on your finger (/ˈfɪŋɡɚ/) without now thinking of the consequences. The blue of the sky and the way the water's distance made the summer-air feel much less hot's a memory that seems perverse the way it fingers its way up into your thoughts to contrast where you've fallen into now with less grace than a dream has to dissolve by light of day. Your fingernails go frantic scratch-scratch u-pon skin to claw it off; this ring, this ring! The room it glistens and mirrors the small shape in circles that flutter out like bats and then leave blue behind once more.