Permanent Ink

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my wrist tattoo

For a girl who is afraid of commitment the word permanent should make me cringe. Oddly, this is not the case when the word permanent is paired with the word ink. It would be silly not to relate permanent ink to the most obvious art: tattoos. Yes, I am currently in constant adoration of my new little tattoo. A small little cross gives me so much strength. For me, resting my thumb on my wrist and rubbing the still inflamed flesh I am reminded of who I am and who I want to be. After a confusing couple of months, or years I suppose, I am finding myself developing into the person I would like to become, separating myself from the person I was, and accepting myself as I am right now. I am not perfect, in fact I am nowhere close to perfect, but the good thing about that is the way we live doesn’t have to be permanent. If we don’t like the way things are going in life, we have the power and ability to change it. Here is the catch though; the permanent ink I was referring to isn’t a tattoo. This kind of permanent ink is a little scarier and a little more fragile. It is words. Words are permanent. They are powerful and potent. We must use the important ones more sparingly. Use the encouraging words more frequently. Use the enchanting ones more elegantly.  Use the heartbreaking words more carefully.  We must learn to keep the damaging words to ourselves and remind each other that we often forgive, but we rarely forget. We can’t change what we said; once they leave our lips they are permanent. These words are the tattoos in our hearts.

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