waiting far too long
for something I forgot was wrong
That tattoo. It will never go away. Ever. Once you make the decision and do it, you are stuck for the rest of your life. Together. Choose wisely. It is part of you. Take your time and be sure that it is not only what you want right now but that it is something that you are going to want in the future, something that can grow as you grow and stretch as you stretch and be pertinent and meaningful even if you undergo a complete personality overhaul. Or a mid life crisis. Maybe you will come to hate it. Maybe you will come to despise it as a reminder of the person you were or the life you lived that is either no longer available to you or is not something you want to associate yourself with. Maybe you will view it with disgust, wondering, every time you see it, how you could have been so stupid. Maybe you will wonder, years later, if your friends are making fun of you for being permanently yoked to such a bad decision. Maybe you will view it with contempt, blaming it for your poor career prospects and minimized clothing options. Maybe that tattoo will come to symbolize all your failures, personal, professional, everything, everything that is wrong with your universe pinned squarely on this thing that YOU chose, that you loved, that you felt such an unbreakable bond with that you had it permanently embedded in your skin. This tattoo.
Maybe you will want to get rid of it. You are not that person anymore, get it the fuck off you! But you do not want to do anything that drastic right now, because you do not have the time or the money. Anyway, even if you have it removed, there is going to be a scar. What to do. Start wearing long sleeves. Start sitting so that it is not exposed from that angle. Start frequenting lower-light establishments. Start small, little things, maybe you cannot get rid of the tattoo entirely but you can modify your behavior and patterns and whole fucking life to make that tattoo less than it was, to make it less noticeable, less important. You cannot get rid of it, entirely, ever. Removal. Scar. It will still be there, wtill be part of you. Probably the thing to do is to have it covered. If you can't get rid of it outright, you can replace it. Cover it. Find something that is more suited to who you are now and what you want at thissecondrightnow and slap it on that bitch. Cover it up, it is easier. Nevermind that you loved that tattoo. Nevermind that it is a testimony to a life lived and choices made and decisions weighed with utmost importance. Cover it up, move along, let it go. This thing. This tattoo. This wife.
The only person I ever loved with my whole, adult heart, the only person for whom I was completely open, completely available, and the only one who really knew me at all, turned my name on his arm into a plant. A plant. A fucking plant.
That is a bold, bold move. Making that decision. Separating me from him with needle and blood, it is that important. I would bleed myself onto this floor, one drop at a time, if only it meant getting her off of me once and for all. Cause if I have to see her name there every day, holy shit, give me an iron and I will take care of it myself, whatever it takes just get her off me. I am that distasteful. I am that disposable. I am that infuriating, he absolutely cannot live with me as a part of him, not for one second more. Not one second. And do you know how I know? Because I saw it. Yesterday.
That tattoo. It will never go away. Ever. Once you make the decision and do it, you are stuck for the rest of your life. Together. Choose wisely. It is part of you. Take your time and be sure that it is not only what you want right now but that it is something that you are going to want in the future, something that can grow as you grow and stretch as you stretch and be pertinent and meaningful even if you undergo a complete personality overhaul. Or a mid life crisis. Maybe you will come to hate it. Maybe you will come to despise it as a reminder of the person you were or the life you lived that is either no longer available to you or is not something you want to associate yourself with. Maybe you will view it with disgust, wondering, every time you see it, how you could have been so stupid. Maybe you will wonder, years later, if your friends are making fun of you for being permanently yoked to such a bad decision. Maybe you will view it with contempt, blaming it for your poor career prospects and minimized clothing options. Maybe that tattoo will come to symbolize all your failures, personal, professional, everything, everything that is wrong with your universe pinned squarely on this thing that YOU chose, that you loved, that you felt such an unbreakable bond with that you had it permanently embedded in your skin. This tattoo.
Maybe you will want to get rid of it. You are not that person anymore, get it the fuck off you! But you do not want to do anything that drastic right now, because you do not have the time or the money. Anyway, even if you have it removed, there is going to be a scar. What to do. Start wearing long sleeves. Start sitting so that it is not exposed from that angle. Start frequenting lower-light establishments. Start small, little things, maybe you cannot get rid of the tattoo entirely but you can modify your behavior and patterns and whole fucking life to make that tattoo less than it was, to make it less noticeable, less important. You cannot get rid of it, entirely, ever. Removal. Scar. It will still be there, wtill be part of you. Probably the thing to do is to have it covered. If you can't get rid of it outright, you can replace it. Cover it. Find something that is more suited to who you are now and what you want at thissecondrightnow and slap it on that bitch. Cover it up, it is easier. Nevermind that you loved that tattoo. Nevermind that it is a testimony to a life lived and choices made and decisions weighed with utmost importance. Cover it up, move along, let it go. This thing. This tattoo. This wife.
The only person I ever loved with my whole, adult heart, the only person for whom I was completely open, completely available, and the only one who really knew me at all, turned my name on his arm into a plant. A plant. A fucking plant.
That is a bold, bold move. Making that decision. Separating me from him with needle and blood, it is that important. I would bleed myself onto this floor, one drop at a time, if only it meant getting her off of me once and for all. Cause if I have to see her name there every day, holy shit, give me an iron and I will take care of it myself, whatever it takes just get her off me. I am that distasteful. I am that disposable. I am that infuriating, he absolutely cannot live with me as a part of him, not for one second more. Not one second. And do you know how I know? Because I saw it. Yesterday.
posted by machine central at 6:40 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home