The One I Hate!

 The One I Hate

Sometimes I want to write, but the words vanish like breath on a mirror.

Yesterday I had a line in my head — it was good, I think — but it slipped away before I could catch it.

Maybe it’ll come back.

Maybe it won’t.

That’s the thing with writing. With memory. With emotion.

They all have a way of appearing uninvited, then leaving without a trace.

Now, tattoos — they don’t disappear so easily.

As you may know, I have more than a few.

Most of them, I like. Some I love.

A couple could do with a touch-up, a tweak here and there.

But overall, they tell my story — in ink and skin and a bit of defiance.

Except for one.

The one I hate.

Yes — hate. I know it’s a heavy word, full of fury and fire.

But that’s exactly what I feel when I look at it.

It’s the wedding ring tattoo.

Why did I get it?

Stupidity.

Fear.

A moment of panic, of regret, of trying to undo something irreversible.

You see, I had sold my golden wedding ring in a storm of emotion. Rage. Grief. Desperation.

And then — the crash of realization: What have you done?

He’s going to be furious.

And there I was, mid-way through a tattoo session, already under the needle, trying to fix some older ink.

So I asked, in a frantic breath, “Just do a quick ring… something simple.”

A mark to calm a man.

To un-anger a husband.

To patch what was already broken.

Now, that husband is long gone.

But the tattoo stayed.

Until now.

I’ve started the process of removing it.

Painful.

Expensive.

Slow.

Each session is like being stitched with fire — tiny needles of light burrowing into your skin, again and again.

But I welcome the pain.

Because this is more than removal.

It’s ritual.

It’s healing.

It’s me, scraping away the last remnants of a man I’ve already carved out of my heart.

And maybe, just maybe, it’ll leave a faint scar.

Something small.

A whisper of a mistake.

A reminder of how far I’ve come.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe