it's not a promise that this will last forever.
it doesn't insure
against the passage of time,
or guarantee us
a happy ever after.
it doesn't prove a thing
because there's nothing to prove.

it's just a memento
scored in flesh,
a note to self
written under the skin,

so that years from now,
wherever you are by then,
whoever i've become,
when time casts doubt
or age creates confusion,
that ink will remain:

an indelible reminder
of everything we had
and everything we were.

i'll remember
the sting of the needle,
the smell of savlon,
the feel of your fingers
on raw flesh,
and i'll remember,
whether i want to or not,
that
at the time at least,

it was real.

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