I don’t want you tattooed on my arm
Not a new one, not for this
I’ve already got one
On my left forearm
The outline of you and two others that we grooved through the backcountry with over 89 days
Long enough to know enough
Laughter carried through the wind
Love layered as deep as the snow we traversed over
Through the trees I snapped the line of you making your way up to ski down
My favorite photograph
A reminder of where it all started
When I began to remember being alive
Laying next to me you’d outline the forest with your fingers
Those strong climber hands
And tease me about having you tattooed on me
I would never admit it was you
But I secretly loved the fact that it was
You were the most important person in my life
In some chapters I told you that
In some chapters you told me that
In others I held back
Both of us so cautious of commitment
But it was always true
Today I sat in that tattoo chair
I called you a friend
That’s it, a friend
I had to be still while her hand pressed the needle into fine lines
And if I had called you anything else it would have trembled throughout my body
I put my arm holding that photograph against my belly
And focused on the rise and the fall
For 5 hours
While she etched in a silhouette of you
This time definitely you
Leaning your right arm against a trekking pole
Long pants hiked slightly up past your ankles
Backpack on
Hood pulled over I presume a Cavaliers ball cap
Looking out to the mountains
I picked the two where I felt you the most
Denali - On the day you died I saw her fading into a sunset pink riding home from the frozen river where the Iditarod mushers headed North
A part of you sits on her summit now
Colonial Peak - where you had your final climb, your final breath
Where I danced with your ghost
And learned that in honoring your death I have my life
And a river
To let go
I didn’t want to get you tattooed today
Because I want you to still be here
But how could I not
When I can hear your stoke about the new ink
And feel your finger trace around the band that now wraps my right forearm
You’re everywhere, but I sometimes I’ll need the reminder
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