If you’ve got a spare couple of minutes on your hands I whole heartedly recommend going over to the Coveteur and reading this.
I’ve always been fascinated by tattoos, their meanings (or lack of) of what they mean to the people whose skin the adorn. I got my first one at 18, didn’t tell my parents about it but felt on top of the world. It’s a feeling that’s impossible to describe that’s sparked up again every time I notice it in the mirror or when my hand passes it. That first one, it holds so much meaning intended and unintended in a way, that I know there’ll be nothing like it ever again. I got my second tattoo (on my foot) a short 6 months after the first, I love it but it’s not the same. It’s been close to 6 years now since that day I walked into a parlour and lay down for an excruciating 30 minutes to emerge different yet the same – with a secret that’s just mine etched onto my skin, one I can share if I want to.
I’ve been toying with the idea of a couple of new ones, but there’s a bit on time until I’ll make that decision.