there’s a tally count tattooed on my right wrist, but i’m not counting anything. people always assume it’s something violent or untoward. seven deadly sins, sexual conquests, whatever. sometimes they ask and i’ll usually make something up. gang rapes i’ve participated in. oh, i just thought it looked cool. something about fingers. other people’s fingers. fuck you.
people often tell me i’m lucky. i think it just looks that way because i’d rather react to surroundings than make a plan — believing in luck is just another way of abdicating responsibility for our own existence. as if we need another one of them.
for most of high school, the only person i was really close to was a girl called cath. we finished school and moved away to university and she died at the end of the first week — the seventh of march.
numbers are such an integral part of superstition and religious symbolism, but i do not believe in these things. nor do i believe in fate or luck, nor any higher power to absolve us of the shitty things we wish we hadn’t done or pass on that one sentiment you never had the stones to express while you could. all that exists is right in front of you — act accordingly.
so what does the tattoo mean? absolutely nothing.
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