Tattooed Everything

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And all I taught her was everything
I know she gave me all that she wore
Now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds of what was everything
The pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything

At two in the morning, I find myself unnerved.  There’s no rain falling on the window; I guess there’s just truth.  There are no lies to be told: no alibis, no excuses.  I can’t bear to remember, and I certainly can’t bear to forget.  It’s the kind of torturous memory of a life gone by that would have other people contemplate tearing apart their windowsills with a hacksaw, and jump to death – perhaps serious injury – three floors down to harsh, unforgiving concrete.

I guess that’s the problem with remembrance and reminiscence.  Once you get started, there’s no turning back.  Once you begin remembering, every word and chapter of a long story starts to write itself in your mind.  All of a sudden, you live every single moment of that exact emotional nightmare with all the precision of time-travel.

I have a lot of frustrations; more than I’m willing to count or remember, and none that I’m willing to write.  The reminder I always give myself is that no matter how frustrated or angry I could get, other people have it worse off than I do.  I’m just going to have to deal with them the best I could.

All of us have frustrations.  All of us get mad every once in a while – perhaps not at 2:20 AM – that no matter how much we make out of our lives, fate always makes it miserable and intolerably cruel and unfair at one point or another.  Yet rather than ask questions or remedy it with whatever solution necessary, I just cover it up with more memories, more thoughts, and yet… I can never forget everything.

I hang on to a few memories and wash them in black.  When the paint fades away, the only thing I can do is cover each and every one of them again.

And twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I’m spinning, I’m spinning… how quick the sun can drop away
Now my bitter hands cradle broken glass of what was everything
All the pictures had all been washed in black, tattooed everything

– Pearl Jam, “Black”

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