Everyone keeps saying that I look older than I am; that twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two can be printed neatly in the box marked age, and I wonder what they see that my mirror refuses to display. I wear a ring on my left hand, a band of sapphires and tiny pinprick, starlight diamonds that relieve the gloom, and I have to wonder if they all think I'm engaged as well. But then, everyone seems to wear the same engagement ring around campus--one sparkling mid-range diamond that's as banal as the adjectives used to describe it. It's disappointing. There's no ingenuity in romance, just 5000 tiresome couples and one solitary freshman who looks twenty-two.