Permanent, marked, etched memories. A decorative canvas, a love shrine, a memorial, a drunken night, a battle scar, a belief. Tattoos hold different meaning for different people and getting one is an experience unlike any other. Tattoos are like broken hearts. After your first one, they just don’t hurt as much.

The thing about tattoos is that they’re addicting, they’re beautiful, they’re personal. And of course, permanent. Unless you have money for laser removal and an even higher tolerance for excruciating pain. Truthfully, most people opt to cover tattoos than remove them. Again, like a broken heart, it’s easier to cover one up with something new than get rid of one completely.

Tattoos and hearts are connected. At least in my case they are. This is a story I don’t like to tell, but I’ll confess it all the same. There are three people who have tattoos of my name, and I’m only in love with one of them: my current beau. His tattoo was inscribed to seal a lifelong bond.

Circumstances stemming from infidelity, distrust, manic panic and desperation fueled the other two situations. I can admit that I used to be a reckless relationship participant. One foot in, one foot out in case of emergency or the need to flee. It was the first heartbreak, the first ridiculously large tattoo scripted in cursive font, that led me down a rocky road of apathy and ink.

The first tattoos was a last ditch effort. An attempt to cover a bleeding, gaping wound with a tiny band-aid. But with the irrevocable damage done to my heart, that first tattoo symbolized sweet revenge. How foolish and young I was to believe it’d make me feel better – though it did for many years. While I lived with broken memories, he lived with a physical reminder of his many transgressions. The second tattoo was to represent love and loyalty after an argument about his baby mama.That relationship fizzled and burned but lingered the longest of all, leaving behind residue of resentment and regret, him over the tattoo and me over something that could never work.

The thing about tattoos is, they not only represent a person, belief or idea, they represent an era. They recall strong emotions and blissful memories. Tattoos tell stories otherwise unspoken. Tattoos go with you to the grave. Whether you cover them up or burn the evidence, they’re a part of you forever. Broken hearts and tattoos.

_________________

Erinn is a freelance writer, bred and born in the San Francisco Bay Area. When she doesn’t have her nose in a book, she chronicles her life as a Bay Arean.