I have tried so hard. I honestly have.
The memory of you clings onto my skin even in your absence, gnawing at my heart in the most complex ways. You’re like an emotional tattoo in my spiritual canvas, leaving your mark deep in my heart even when I try and brush you away. I have never intended it to turn out this way.
I want nothing out of this struggle, except closure with the ink left under my skin. The permanence of a tattoo will perhaps remind me of everything I never said, and everything I will never say.
Jacket on, and my skin is hidden. My tattoo is not illegal but I keep it hidden just for the sake of the time being. I have not worn a jacket in school for the longest of times, but I cover up because she tells me I must.
It’s painful, it’s needles penetrating your skin at rates of 80-150 times per second, but nothing worth keeping ever came without a sacrifice.
; 