I once thought that I might marry you. A daydream of a ring on my finger, heavy with meaning. It dimmed and glistened as the months passed.

I clung onto that daydream, gazing at my hand imagining it wearing the commitment you could not give, hoping my kind words and self care could love it into reality

I got a dip manicure.

They made polish from powder and the smooth finish from grinding down my nails with a drill. The top layer of my nail converted to a dust that hovered in the air around me.

It was meant to be a long lasting manicure, made on the solid foundation of my withering nails.

It wasn’t. It chipped. Large chunks falling off as I lived my life. I tried again. I asked, again, to have my nails ground down to give off appearances that I found comforting.

Yes, I am pretty.

Yes, I am cared for.

It may be cracked but I am trying.

We ended and I stopped getting these manicures. I stopped asking someone to grind me down.

It left a mark.

A clear line.

A constant reminder of that decision.

Yes, I am cared for.

Yes, I am pretty.

Over the months I have looked down at my fingertips.

Watching that line move farther away from my body. The new, healthy, smooth nail calmly pushing out the damage I had requested.

That line has now vanished from each of my nails.

A constant reminder that I need no decoration.