I was one of those kids who’d ink up their arms in grade school, scrawling all over with doodles and words and phrases. In high school I used to cover my hands in the titles of my favorite songs, the names of my favorite authors and poets, quotes from my favorite books. I guess it kept me grounded, in a way. My hands are the most important parts of me and to look down at them and see the words that meant most to me – words that convinced me to survive – I dunno, it was comforting.
But things change.
I know some people get tattoos to mark eras in their lives; remember important places, feelings, people, events, influences, whatever.
But me? No, I think I’m much better off leaving shit behind.
I don’t want these memories.