The Story of 486 – 793 – 525 – 486
(begging forgiveness if such a slave registration exists I will change it, but I checked and they seem to be 9 digits, usually?)
𝟒𝟖𝟔- 𝟕𝟗𝟑- 𝟓𝟐𝟓 – 𝟒𝟖𝟔
𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖊𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖚𝖒
(my life, my property, my forever love)
We had talked about what his tattoo would look like. Something that’d mean something to both of us and only those in the know would discern it’s meaning. If they saw it.
We both loved the Latin language. I had taken it in school and that was his family lineage. And we wanted it to reflect our relationship. To be just as meaningful when we died as when we lived and loved.
Something better than a ring. Something no one could steal from him. Something neither of us could toss away in a fit of rage. Maybe even make us pause if times were hard to reflect on it.
And if placed right, something only he and I could see. And we did several placements as temporary tatts, to see which was the best. For discretion’s sake. But there would be moments when he had to get medical care. So there was always that potential. So nothing that doctors’d usually wince over. Just a few words and a number.
The day came. And we went to the parlour for the final version, that’d be a permanent tattoo.
And he was such a champ. He had tears in his eyes at times. and winced a few others. But he sat thru it’s placement.
And I was never so proud. He was never so proud.
To finish it off, we each had a matching black dot put on our ring finger. We belonged. And always would.