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“”Do you think she’ll like your new tattoos? Instinctively, I touched the inside of my forearm where one of the sleeves of ink began. What had started as an act of defiance had metamorphosed into armor with every new design. Little black songbirds flew up my skin, the arc of a wing shading the scar beneath. Woodland details filled in the gaps between the varied species of birds and a curl of honeycomb rounding my left biceps. The latter had been an impulse, really. A nostalgic dig of the knife that suddenly felt far too exposing.” — Ruth McKell
”Do you think she’ll like your new tattoos?
Instinctively, I touched the inside of my forearm where one of the sleeves of ink began. What had started as an act of defiance had metamorphosed into armor with every new design. Little black songbirds flew up my skin, the arc of a wing shading the scar beneath. Woodland details filled in the gaps between the varied species of birds and a curl of honeycomb rounding my left biceps.
The latter had been an impulse, really. A nostalgic dig of the knife that suddenly felt far too exposing.