I once gave a girl a gold ring, it hung from her neck on a chain. I thought its possession would be a constant reminder of me, but sadly that ornament lacked the presence devotion demands and easily she would forget what that weight on her chest truly meant when I wasn't near. Sometimes I couldn't be there.      'It's a gift, it's a gift,' she would say. 'It's a symbol, a promise I made to someone who once cared for me so much he gilded his love around this ring. There was was a face once, a bearer, a name...' But her recollection had waned and she struggled for words to explain, 'Well, beyond that the details are vague.' Nothing remained. The gift was in vain.