The Fading Ink on my Graduation Ring

Dear Delyara, The light from my desk lamp caught the small, engraved crest on the gold ring I wear on my small finger—the one I received when I finished my business degree in London. The details are starting to soften now, the fine lines of the emblem slowly wearing away from years of hitting metal door handles, lifting heavy gate bars, and washing my hands with cheap industrial soap in guardroom sinks. I turned the band around my finger, feeling the smooth, thinned-out gold against my skin. It feels like my credentials are dissolving right along with it, being rubbed smooth by the raw friction of a life spent doing hard, physical labor while my mind burns with a creative fire that no one here can see.