Who knows you better than yourself?
Truths you may never want to hear or mention in conversation regarding all aspects of your character stay locked up tight in the back of your mind, waiting, waiting for the day you will brush off the cobwebs to revisit the mistakes and issues you now wish to fix.
Who knows your deepest secrets in more detail than yourself?
Things you so desperately need to tell someone without a word being spoken back to you, without an opinion forming from things you wish no judgment from.
Who knows your happiest moments more than you do?
That one moment, that one whisper, that one brush of lips against your own that caused enough joy in your heart that the muscle swells at the thought of it. A moment that no one can relive, no one can explain.
Who knows your wounds from the past better than yourself?
That fragment in time where the world stopped. Tears feeling your eyes, legs trembling as you fall to your knees, prepared to give up on others, on the world…on yourself.
I write for myself.
My inked friend knows me better than I know myself; my inked friend is honest, my inked friend knows my secrets, my inked friend is the one who, at any point in my life I can turn to; in times of happiness or in times when I can see no point to go on.
My inked friend gives me time to think with each letter forming the words that help me explain the impossible, make sense of the confusing array of moments that make up my life, who I am.
My inked friend is for me as I am for my inked friend,
Together we are one, together we carry on.