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I know this post will serve, again, as sort of a stirrer to the menace in the social network, those who purposely stay logged in here with obnoxious various purposes, which boil down to one hell of a pastime: minding other people’s business. Basically, I couldn’t care less, but because they’ve started minding mine, here I am, just saying “eat your hearts out” to the “insecure and lonely” few out there.

Anyway, this mystery guy certainly knew better than throwing the broken fasteners into the bin. Instead, he recycled them into a pair of rings, and then warmed up to me after a minute of misunderstanding.

“Give me your finger,” said he. “I’d like you to wear this one, as I’m going to wear the other one.”

I didn’t bother to ask any more questions such as why, or what for, or whatnot, because even the Neanderthal knows what it means when someone puts a ring on your finger, let alone forms something into one, for you.

Now, I don’t mean to be too presumptuous by saying that, probably, he loves me back—because I know that he never will . . . as a boyfriend, based on observation. So to those who almost turned green with envy, you can now relax knowing that our wearing the ring means nothing more than celebrating our special friendship at this stage, especially that he might be migrating to the United States within this year.

Sigh.

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