Ink

Thought I had an itch to scratch. But maybe that was me just being young and greedy. Selfish? Selfish too. Curiosity tastes better than the rest of it sometimes. The stories we tell ourselves taste sweeter too. Over and over until we start to believe them. A few masochistic narratives born in the brain. They spill and spread to the rest of the body if we let them. They show up like a trace of ink to the surface of the skin. Permanent and self-righteous, like a tattoo I'd have to explain to strangers. Reminded me of that scene I had memorized. Liv Tyler crying over wasted time. The ratio of her eyes to the rest of her face. The years she'd spent floating in a story littered with half truths and unrequited sentiment. Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight.