I can feel the needle etching into my skin. The ink, the art, a part of me- forever.
Deep breath in. I lie on my tummy on the table. The buzzing sound, the loud music together with the quiet concentration of elaborate work on my back. I'm sweating. It hurts. But the pain, I can handle.
This is going to be who I am inside, on the outside. I need it there. I am incomplete without it. I have to let it out, and it has to define me. Otherwise it will be all for nothing.
It was that summer we found out. You are sick. And scared. My God, the fear- it was all you must have felt.
--
The sugar has always been a part of it.
We are all excessive, indulgent. We love our food, our wine. Laughter, conversations. Adrenalin. A rush so intense I'm dizzy, I can feel it in my veins. Gives me that high, that breath-taking giddiness.
There's no point being alive if you can't feel it.
And that long, long summer, you couldn't live. You weren't allowed to live. No decision was yours.
--
Our metaphorical blood runs stronger than in our veins. Your blood is my blood, and it is neither here nor there.
We are all one. I look in your eyes and I see him.
You need to know that. Know that there is no danger of falling off. We will be there; and I will be the one steering.
