I may not ever get his name tattooed on my body, but I think I understand why people do.
Because it's not enough to have the feeling of being at home burnt into the ghosts of their breastbone and where the heart presses against but never quite pierces the skin. The tattoo brings life to the ghosts, makes human the pieces of our bodies. The thought of missing and the idea of forever are temporarily transposed into a ceremony where mortality isn't a misfortune, but an indulgence. How can it be so bad, that ink makes our dying cells permanent.