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I sat between your legs, my knees up against my chest, my arms wrapped around them my head rested in the crevasses of my forearms.
The doors leading to your porch were open and scents of fresh life drifted in filling my senses with the flowing river, the rustle of newly green leaves and the flap of long absent wings.
You pick up an odd contraption, you dip the point into a bowl of black ink that swirls around like a bottomless pit, full of possibilities.
Tinny bubbles form on the sides of the cup and as I watch them pop, you ask if I’m ready. I respond with a nervous yes. Then the machine whirs to life and I feel your arm on my back, steadying your hand.
I feel the needle meet my skin, the pain is there but not like I expected, it’s quick and light like a pretty insect flitting in and out of your sight.
We sit there together in different places mentally but we share this moment all the same, I trust you completely, feeling entirely at ease as you focus on my back. Creating something that will last the rest of my days.
The ink itself has a say in the design it seems to speak its mind daring you to turn it into a leaping tiger or glaring wolf, forever enclosed behind a layer of skin. Staring down the world behind it’s epidermis prison.
Though today it is a simple star, first talked about jokingly then more seriously. Drawn lightly on my shoulder with a pen and then imbedded into my skin. this is how my star has come to be.
When the needle stilled and my tank top strap pulled up there was a new part of me I could feel it resting on my shoulder growing puffy from the agitation. In a week it would scab over and threaten to peel off, but it hung on and in a month it had settled into my skin. A forever reminder of that beautiful spring day and the rare overwhelming trust I felt for an old friend.





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