Ink.

I got a tattoo.

There, it’s out there. I’ve sat here for far too long, trying to figure out the best way to describe this thing. It’s all so….big. Huge. Just…honestly, there are no words for it. There are so many layers to what I’m feeling that it just comes out as nothing. It’s not only the aspect of having a tattoo, it’s also having this particular tattoo, having actually gone through with the decision, having sat through it, having taken the step, to be willing to face all the crap I probably will have to take for it, and dealing with the very little amount of crap that’s already been thrown at me.

I regret nothing.

And I know that I won’t. I just do. Because it’s so what I am, and now it’s been manifested as a physical part of me, as real as my skin, my brain and my heart. It’s me, and now everyone can see it. So if someone judges my tattoo, they judge me, and that’s fine. Because, like with everything else about me, if you don’t like it, then you can just walk away. Actually, run, because I don’t want you near me anyways.

I’ve been obsessed with tattoos in general for years now, and I’ve seen pictures of countless pieces of art. And even though my tattoo is about the shape of three coins, and don’t have any fancy designs or colors, it’s still the most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen. Because it is my life.

Faith, hope and love.

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Writings on my skin.

Good evening fellow earthlings,

as you’ve probably noticed by now, I have a particular fondness for tattoos. In other words, I love them. There’s just something about having your skin marked with something personal, a message that you can choose to show the world, or keep private, a reminder that’s only for you to see. And it’s forever. This is usually the most off-putting part for people, but that’s actually one of the things I like the most about tattoos. Forever. I love forever.

So, one of the dreams I have in life is to get a tattoo. Well, a couple, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Though it’s a definite desire I have, I’ve never thought of it as something I’d actually do. Why, you ask? The most current reason is that my mother wouldn’t approve. She doesn’t have anything against people with tattoos, but doesn’t approve because of the whole “honor your body, for it is your temple” thing (which I absolutely agree with, but obviously, tattooing would be like decorating and celebrating that temple). I know this may sound trivial, but remember that I’m still a minor, and mommy’s rules go. However, I am turning eighteen this year. Becoming an adult and all that stuff. Which is bull, because we all know that you don’t actually magically grow up the moment you turn eighteen, and your parents don’t automatically let go. But the real reason is probably that I’m too chicken shit. There are two kinds of people in the world: dreamers and go getters, the latter being the upgraded version of the former. Unfortunately, I have not upgraded, and ideas in my mind rarely leave the mental drawing board.

However, there’s nothing wrong with dreaming, it is the first step towards becoming a go getter. So let’s dream a little, shall we? Let’s say that I am actually getting a tattoo. What would I get? As much as I love the idea of having beautiful artwork on my body, that doesn’t really feel like me. At least art in the form of images. What feels like me? Art in the form of words. Words, words, words. I live for them. I love reading, writing and living by words. And honestly, I feel like I’m better at writing what I feel than saying them out loud. I found this website with the prettiest font I ever saw, so here are the words that I would probably choose if I were to get tattooed right now, in the following style as well:

This sentence kind of summarizes my life in the most beautiful way. I spend most of my time thinking about what the meaning of life might be, and even though there’s no way I’ll know the definite answer, I strive to find everything I can that may make my life more than it is. Even though this is my clear intention in everything I do, I sometimes forget that. When things get scary, I simply choose to do nothing, missing what could be, instead choosing to remain where I am. Which is an okay place, but nowhere near where I want to end up. So this would be a great reminder. Another reason for me wanting this quote is that I first read it in Looking for Alaska, by John Green, which is, along with The Catcher in the Rye, my favorite book. And even though my life will probably change and I’ll read plenty of other books, some that may be better, this one will always be the one that changed me, like all things do, but in a way that I feel was so necessary for me. It opened my eyes, and my mind, and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

If the first one is a reminder of what I want to achieve in life, this one is a reminder of what I have, and what I will need to find it. Even though you hear them all the time, it’s so easy to forget these things. Faith is something that is extremely important to me. In fact, to all human beings. Even if it necessarily doesn’t have to mean faith in the religious sense. Personally, I do believe in God. I believe there’s someone out there looking after me, even though it might not feel that way all the time, and I want to be able to remember that. Always. But, equal in importance, I also want to be reminded of the fact that I mustn’t lose faith in myself. And I can’t lose faith in humanity either. Even when things are looking dark. Hope isn’t something I have to be reminded of to have, because even in the worst situations – we always feel hope. Even when we feel hopeless, we have hope. The reason for me wanting that word is because sometimes, I forget to acknowledge that hope. When things feel shit, I still have that feeling of hope, but I need to put that feeling front and center, because with hope comes strength, and with strength – you can do anything. And lastly, love. Love is everything. Love is the most beautiful thing in this world, and if you have love, the rest might not come automatically, but it gets a heck of a lot easier to go find it.

Actually writing out these reasons makes me want these words on me even more. See? I told you that I’m better at writing what I think than saying it…maybe even better at writing than actually thinking it. I don’t know. I might get them tattooed. One day.

Will you let yourself let go? Let go.

Tune of the day CXXXVI.

All day, my insides have just been boiling with all these feelings. The feelings brewed, just becoming bigger and bigger, threatening to spill over. I didn’t know what to do, where to begin. And then this song came on shuffle. I exploded. Everything that had been stirring inside of me just came out. All because of this song. This one song that I had almost forgotten. This one song that is perfect in every way. And that’s why it’s the tune of the day.

Safe little house, safe little friends
Safe little thoughts to keep you safe
From all those big bad wolves that eat you up
Safe in your room
Safe as a tomb
Sleep in a coffin made of glass
It takes a big facade to hide the cracks

Can you make this last
Cause now I’m not so sure
Are you up to the task?
Sometimes the sickness is the cure
You’re searching so hard
You’ve lost yourself

Does it help to pray as you’re wasting away
Like a silver screen cliché?
Cause after all we’re actors on a stage
Will it help you to wait for the moment to break
Is it real or is it fake?
All we are just chapters on a page
Cause after all we’re actors on a stage

Here in the now, shedding the doubts
They’ll be no past or future tense
Regrets a waste of time and plans will change
Oh, some for the worst
Some for the best
You know you can always get your way
So worried about what’s next
You lost today

Can you make this last?
Cause now I’m not so sure
Are you up to the task?
Sometimes the sickness is the cure
You’re searching so hard
You’ve lost yourself

Oxymoron.

Disappointment. It stings.

I saw you today, for the first time in over two years. I’d gotten glimpses of you a handful of times, but this was the first time we really met. During these two years, I had done everything that I could to get over you. To forget you. I tried my damnest to convince myself that nothing would happen. That I was too good for you. That there wasn’t anything I could do to change your mind. To change your feelings.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

And I managed pretty well. With time, the memory of you, of our times together, became less vivid. They faded, like most do, and I started to think that it was just a crush. That I was young and naive. That I had matured. Gotten over it. Whatever that means. And then things changed.

I started thinking about you again. Wondered how you were, how life was going, and what you were doing. I found it a little strange that I was suddenly so concerned for your well-being, but wrote it off as just caring about a childhood friend. How stupid I was.

I looked forward to seeing you today. I thought that maybe we could start over as friends. Because you really are a great person, and a wonderful friend to have. I was sure I’d grown enough in the past couple of years to be able to handle it. But then I got there and that familiar feeling came back. That special kind of anticipation that only you could excite.

When you entered that room, every ounce of strength and resolve I’d gathered during those two years crumbled. Your mere presence turned me back into the pathetic mess I once was. When you nonchalantly addressed me, pointing out how long it’s been, the butterflies spread a jolt of electricity through my body. And when you hugged me, I clenched my eyes shut and took a deep breath, savoring the short moment of warmth. Even though you’d changed, your voice now a deep baritone and your stature towering over me, you were exactly the same.

It was all exactly the same.

The night was spent in the utmost disappointing way. Like it’s always been. We played the same cat and mouse game where the winner was whoever cared less. And I felt like a fool, because I was the one pretending while you genuinely didn’t care. I think that’s what hurt the most. The fact that I was such a wreck, and you wasn’t. Like it’s always been. You stayed a couple of hours and snuck out without saying goodbye. Leaving me shocked and shaken. The same old routine. 

And what sucks the most is that I’ll do it again the next time we see each other. I’ll be so stupidly happy to see you, disappointed to see you leaving so soon, and hate myself for letting you get to me. Again. You were my first. And I’ll never have another you. So I hope you’re happy with yourself. Because I’ll always be here, whether I want to or not. Waiting.

Cupid and Psyche.

This Friday, my dear friend Succy returned from her trip to France, and she told me about all the things she did there. She went to The Louvre, for the second time, and showed me here favorite work of art. I gasped aloud when I saw the link. I remember reading about this myth a year ago, and I really liked the story. This statue was a perfect reminder. So stunning. I just had to put it here.

Once upon a time there was a king with three daughters. They were all beautiful, but by far the most beautiful was the youngest, Psyche. She was so beautiful that people began to neglect the worship of Venus, the goddess of love and beauty. Venus was very jealous, and asked her son Cupid (the boy with the arrows) to make Psyche fall in love with a horrible monster. When he saw how beautiful she was, Cupid dropped the arrow meant for her and pricked himself, and fell in love with her.

Despite her great beauty no-one wanted to marry Psyche. Her parents consulted an oracle, and were told that she was destined to marry a monster, and they were to take her to the top of a mountain and leave her there. The west wind took her and wafted her away to a palace, where she was waited on by invisible servants. When night came her new husband visited her, and told her that he would always visit her by night and she must never try to see him.

Although her invisible husband was kind and gentle with her, and the invisible servants attended to her every desire, Psyche grew homesick. She persuaded her husband to allow her sisters to visit her. When they saw how she lived they became very jealous and talked Psyche into peeking at her husband, saying that he was a monster who was fattening her up to be eaten and that her only chance of safety was to kill him. Psyche took a lamp and a knife, but when she saw her beautiful husband, Cupid, she was so surprised she dripped some hot wax onto his shoulder, waking him. He took in the situation at a glance and immediately left Psyche and the magnificent palace she had been living in disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Psyche roamed about looking for her husband, and eventually in desperation approached his mother, Venus. Still angry, the goddess set various tasks for Psyche, all of which she passed, with a bit of help from ants and river gods. At last Cupid found out what was going on, and he persuaded Jupiter to order Venus to stop her persecution of Psyche. Then they were married and lived happily ever after – and it really was ever after since Psyche was made a goddess.

(Story taken from here.)

I drowned out all my sense with the sound of its beating

No sir, well I don’t wanna be the blame, not anymore.
It’s your turn, so take a seat we’re settling the final score.
And why do we lie to hurt, so much?

As upset as I was (and still am) over the latest developments regarding Paramore, I think I’m forgetting the most important part. I should think about everything that I have gained from the band, not everything I’m losing. Paramore is and will always be one of my absolute favorite bands…if not the band I treasure the most. Here’s tune of the day, it’s as close to my favorite as a song can get and I can without doubt say that the video for it is the best ever made. Of course, I’m a bit biased.

That’s what you get when you let your heart win…