i’ll be wearing your tattoo

i was sitting next to a man holding his daughter yesterday.

“i want a tattoo, daddy,” she said.

“no, no… i don’t like tattoos.”

“but your arms?” she was confused.

“tattoos never go away. they tell about who you used to be and sometimes people change.”

the little girl traced a bird on his forearm.

“i think you used to be very beautiful.”


tattoos are scars we choose to wear on our skin. they are often shaped by countless other scars, the ones we wear inside — our stories — the things that we carry with us, pulling us here and there, whispering to us of saudade and woodsmoke and spring rains. quietly. you may not see these kind of tattoos, but that doesn’t make them any less permanent or significant.

in the broadest sense, i think life is about collecting scars — seen, unseen, forced, chosen — they say, i was here — they say, i lived — they tell our story.

"the wound is the place where the light enters you"

and so, i got another tattoo — a scar of my own choosing — on the tenth of may. i don’t know everything that it means just yet, but i’ll have the rest of my life to figure it out.

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