I'm not sure if it was a drunken idea, or one of ecstatic stupidity, but finally, from indirect jokes we took to the alley, greasy and haunting in itself, we crossed the deathly narrow lane to the tattoo place.
Neon-lit and consumed in the atmosphere of alcohol and some illegal drug somewhere, we picked out the incomplete chain-- one for you and one for me-- so that when our bodies came together, we completed each other.
We completed each other.
You got yours and I got mine.
And now a year later, you have had yours removed, and are now thinking why you got one in the first place.
But you never knew, did you?
I didn't just love you, I loved you for who you were, for all you were, for all you had been.
I wasn't just a stupid girl, filled with the butterflies of first loves. I was in love with you. Fallen, completely.
You left your scars. You left your scars.
You would never know, now would you?
That while you were looking away, I got mine in permanent ink.
**We completed each other. Now I can barely complete myself.