Tattoos are forever.

Drying off the last droplets from his morning shower, something catches his eye in the mirror. It’s his reflection. More specific, the reflection of his tattoo. The once beautifully colored half sleeve on his upper left arm sprawling over his shoulder and into his chest; a monument to the start of a new day, the sun just cresting over mountain tops and sharing light with the world - now looks weathered, blurry, faded. He had spent so much time and energy planning out this tattoo. He had always loved the philosophical idea of how early morning dawn represented a new beginning, a chance to carve out greatness, create happiness, gain wisdom, or share love. He worked with the artist to create the perfect rendition of what he was expecting to be a part of him forever. Maybe it was in need of a touch up, to bring that vibrant color back and retain that everlasting beauty he once saw, or maybe it was him. Could it be possible that something changed in him? A change to his reality; this tattoo once rich with inspiration and hope for the future, now looks like the setting sun, clinging to its last moments, sharing its final beams of sunlight before disappearing behind the mountains, possibly never to be seen again. Fondly glancing down directly at the artwork, he remembers the hours spent, the days passed, the pain, the exhilaration, the extra care needed until it was healed. He sees close up that there had always been slight flaws in the work, flaws that he always had accepted. Getting lost in his thoughts, he knows that the tattoo is always going to be a part of him. In his mind, the interpretation may differ from time to time, but in his heart the admiration is timeless.