Since none of them are visible, I’m not sure those of you who know me even know I have tattoos.
If you ask me about any of them, I’ll probably give you the lighthearted story, the surface story, what they look like from the outside. One of them I’ll even laugh off as a joke. Of course, they’re all of those surface things, too. The decision to get any of them was pure whim. (And, I assure you, you don’t get a tattoo on an ass cheek without having a sense of humor.)
But underneath, in those layers of dermis stained with black ink, they mean something to me. They’re symbols and words that represent pieces of myself.
You see, they’re all things I’m afraid of forgetting.
They’re all things I’ve permanently inked on my body so as not to forget who I am.