Under my skin: a tattoo.
More a part of me than
hair that falls and regrows,
memories fickle,
beliefs that change
and blood that’s new
since the start of this sentence.

It’s a part of me
because it’s so close to me,
like one day you will be.

Only you don’t exist yet.
You are not yet
who you will be,
as nor was I me
when the ink was laid
under that boy’s skin.

One day we’ll meet,
you and I,
and from then on
we’ll be close.
And you’ll be a part of me
for as long as our hair grows
and memories are made
and we believe in each other
and new blood continues to flow to our hearts.

And after that?

The tattoo will be all that’s left of me
for days. But we will both be closer
to the heart of it all.

In love with the world
and eventually
with every one we ever knew.