Photo from Ink Magazine

Did I ever mention that I have a tattoo? No...? Well, I have a tattoo. Granted, this isn't it. Lol. No, mine is a smaller tattoo that can and is easily hidden every day by jewelry. No, it is not a wrist tattoo nor is it a neck tattoo. Mine is a finger tattoo. One that is placed on my left ring finger. I remember the exact day I got it. I remember everything about that day, actually. My sister Lisa was with me. I told her I wanted a tattoo and she said she wanted one too. I said let's go! We got into my truck and drove to a tattoo shop not far from our house. Once inside we looked at the tattoo book that they had on the table. Of course, after viewing a few images and realizing how permanent they would be, my sister chickened out. I don't hold that against her though because I think in all honesty I would have too. But, I had a point to prove. I was going through the battles of a bad breakup. One where I didn't want it to be over and he did. So, I wanted to do something that only I could control. The final product was a tattoo. It's a tiny little reminder of him- yes, but more importantly its a reminder that even though shit happens in life that we don't always want to happen, we ultimately control how the story plays out. Fact: he broke my heart. Another fact: I didn't allow the situation to make me bitter. I mourned the loss and got over it. In a strange way, that tattoo was my hope. It was my therapy in a bad time. I know, that sounds crazy, but its the truth. I look down at it and I see a different outcome. It represents a change in me. I haven't felt that way towards any other piece of ink until I saw this one. It speaks to me. I wish I could communicate all the things I see and feel when I look at it, but I can't. 

Take a look at it. A good look. What do you see?