Permanent Art

I met a woman. A woman willing to sit through a three hour tattoo.

Body art isn’t really my thing. A combination of excess body hair, body image issues, and a strong inclination to keep a clean cut image kept me away from the idea.

But this year sucked. And was awesome. I wanted a reminder (permanent) that things seem to work out how they’re supposed to…if you’re willing to put in the effort. Full disclosure: I lost 50 pounds so this was kind of a reward. And motivation to avoid ruining it by getting fat again.

When I met her, the appointment was already in place. She had a tattoo. She wants another. She uses the same shop so she wanted to come sit with me.

Alright, now. I’m a love sick puppy. There’s literally nothing I wouldn’t do to impress her. But for the first time she sees me shirtless to be writhing around on a table with some hipster lady defaming my body in the eyes of the Lord? That’s a pretty bold play. She seemed genuinely interested tho. So. Fuck it.

We got there and I was a nervous wreck, didn’t take the pain like I was hoping, etc, etc. I don’t remember a lot of that part. Here’s what has stayed with me —

I was laying on my stomach with my head towards her for three hours. She smiled at me the whole time. She held my hand. She let me viciously hit on her. She rubbed my back. She reassured me. I was so damned proud to have her next to me.

There was nothing else going on in that busy room but her eyes looking back into mine. I got lost in the moment. I was reflecting on the fact that there was something being put in my skin that’s going to be with me for the rest of my life. Permanent.

I want to tattoo her into my life. I want her to always be there to reach out and hold my hand when things get hard. I want to tell dumb jokes and hear her laugh even though they’re not funny. Forever. Even though every bit of the pain I felt was totally self-inflicted, a choice I made that will probably seem ridiculous in a few years, she stood by my side.

Towards the end I was pretty exhausted. Three hours is an enternity when you’re being stabbed repeatedly. She could tell. She ran her hand slowly through my hair and kissed me on my forehead. It shook me to my core. I hope she didn’t notice, but I welled up with tears. It had nothing to do with the tattoo. It was a physical reaction so the truest, most sincere love I’ve ever felt for someone.

Weve been together for a month. We don’t have a lot of time to spend with each other. But I can say with more conviction than I’ve ever had for anything that I’m deeply, madly in love her. My heart has found its counterpoint in her. I’m scared shitless by it. It’s the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in, to feel in my soul that, if God really makes someone for someone else, his pick for me is 30 miles down the road and mine to lose (no pressure). It’s terrifying. I love it. And her. So much.

I will pursue that feeling and its origin until my last breath. I marry her, raise a family with her, and grow old with her in my mind every single day.

I am the happiest nervous-wreck of man in the world (with a silly tattoo). Because I met a woman.




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