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Curve Ball

The pictures on my skin remind me of certain things.

Certain times.

Some drawn on. Some imagined.

Certain people.

They remind me to do away with my own suffering, to be the broad shoulders that share the burden of others.

And to know my own pain. To feel the fever of a past life.

To know the place of a curve ball. And allow myself to wallow in the dark cavities of my own mind.

Of abstract sadness.

To mourn the loss of someone already gone.


Maybe this is why I got tattoos. Despite what my mum said. To remind myself of things I should never forget.

To remind me to lose myself at just the right moment.

To remind myself that ‘just passing through’ is really a permanent imprint.

Lessons cannot be unlearned.

To remember that the world was not created for me.I was created for it.

For them.

To remind myself to feel. All of it. Over and over again. Until I have nothing left.

And be thankful.

Rest In Paradise kind man. I learned from you more than I knew.

Except for Portuguese, because I still suck.


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