There’s something painfully romantic about the one who escaped your clutches, the one who gave you up, stood in your way when you tried to move on; the one you hope forgives you and the one you hope to forgive and yet never forget. It’s the one you’ll miss always. He’s greater than a storybook tale and far more complicated than any Hollywood movie ever scripted.
Today I went to get two tattoos. I added to my half-sleeve of Nabakov butterflies on my right upper arm, but on a whim I decided I needed something more. I needed a renegade… I needed a butterfly who tried to get away. It’s the one in the photo above whose colors and shape are far different from the rest that ended up on my thigh. Oh, and it fucking hurt like hell… just like him.
“Famous Blue Raincoat” written by Leonard Cohen; sung by J. Irvin Dally:
It’s four in the morning, the end of December
I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better
New York is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening.