A mark on the skin—
Not just for the world to see,
But for the self to remember.
The Moment That Demands to Be Kept
Some moments in life slip away quietly, dissolving into the blur of passing days. Others refuse to be forgotten.
A name whispered in the dark, a streetlight flickering as you say goodbye, the sound of the ocean at 3 AM when there’s no one else around.
There are things that change you. Things that carve themselves into your bones, even if you don’t want them to.
A tattoo is just a way of making sure you don’t forget.
The Weight of a Mark
People ask, what would you get? Where would you put it?
But that’s not the real question. The real question is: what is worth carrying forever?
Some would choose words—a phrase that once saved them, a name that never left them.
Some would choose symbols—a reminder of who they were, or who they still hope to be.
Some would choose nothing at all—not on the skin, at least. But inside, they are already covered in invisible ink.
If I were to choose, it would be small. Something only I would notice. Maybe on my ribs, where breath meets bone. A line from a book I never finished. A shape that only means something to me.
Not to prove anything. Not for anyone else to see.
Just to know that it’s there.
Wabi-Sabi and the Impermanence of Ink
Wabi-sabi teaches that nothing is ever truly permanent.
Even ink fades.
Even skin changes.
Even the things we swear we will always remember eventually soften at the edges.
But that doesn’t make them less meaningful.
A tattoo is not about holding onto a moment forever—it is about honoring the fact that it was there at all.
Lessons in the Art of Remembering
- Some things are worth carrying. Choose carefully.
- A mark on the skin means nothing if it doesn’t also leave a mark on the soul.
- Fading does not mean forgetting.
- Not all tattoos are visible. Some of us wear ours in the way we move, the way we love, the way we survive.
- You don’t need ink to remember what shaped you. But sometimes, it helps.
The Skin, the Ink, the Story That Stays
Maybe I’ll get it one day.
Maybe I won’t.
But I like the thought of it—of something small, something quiet, something meant only for me.
A reminder. A promise. A proof of something real.
A mark that says: I was here. And for a moment, it mattered.
life 
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