Am I supposed to write a saga on this ring?
Stone was handed last fall on way back by that road restaurant of Qazvin, as he was looking for the best moment to put it on my palm, and he never found that moment so he decided a bad moment after that bad dinner is after all a moment too, so it would do. He said. He also said look there is sun coming up at the corner of sky on this thing. On this turquoise.
Last winter I told the jeweler to wrap the ring I lost in Qatar around the sun turquoise. On an airplane leading to Qatar in a floating carriage where I, without a sleeping pill, re-circled 13 hours, around a piece of memory of my hand being held out in front of the jeweler in Istanbul Bazar asking how much this ring is worth by that very someone who thought of self as a scale of things. As if asking how much I'm worth. That one had a green stone, the witches green stone, the kind of green stone that to day, still wants to break a nose bleeding with the same hand at the security beeping of every single piece of metal on my body. Like my armor. So I let go. Of my armor. Because I can't take beeps. In one of those plastic trays and 3 months later I looked for it in Abu Dhabi airport information desk and they told me it's too late. The witch already handed itself to a charity where it frequently flies to Africa for food program. But what part of Africa? They meant Istanbul? That witch was good with navigation. Thus I'm not worried.
So I told the jeweler to wrap the same ring around that stone. The sun stone. That I received finally last week, a month after blood ran along streams of our minds when I never returned. This was the story I told you I will tell you when I return. Was it a bad moment? Am I keeping a soul? Why has the sun disappeared from this turquoise? Am I supposed to write a saga on this ring?