Here you sit, engraved in my skin and just like the Sun that rises each morning, there you are; behold.
Here you sit, upon my shoulder, ink beneath the surface just like his anger that never failed to claw its way out. There. You. Are.
You have taken up residence on my body to encompass every apology, every failed hope, every night he stumbled in drunk and promised me it was the last time.
Yet I leave you.
When I die, you will rot with my skin and become part of this earth, but even then you will never quite leave me.
You see, you are me.
You are the stupid girl who loved that boy, the stupid girl who picked him up off the bathroom floor, who checked on him to make sure tonight wasn’t the night he drank himself to death.
And you are the girl who left him, you are the girl who crawled away inch by inch until there was nothing left of him but a story; one you’ll never write again.
Here’s to you
You are me.