Read Time | 5 mins
It was the monarch butterfly tattoo that got me. Occupying a corner of her right shoulder, peeking from under the strap of her vest. Ink has meaning and monarch butterflies have deeper meanings. I’d watch her for several minutes every day after that. Her air pods were playing some sort of salsa or Spanish music, for every twenty minutes or so, she’d close her eyes and do a little bachata when she thought no one was looking. Or maybe she didn’t care if anyone was watching.
There was a balance to her. Graceful, ballerina like. She’d bounce around with these light steps, as though she was walking on air. She’d wear these gym shorts that showed off her sun kissed thighs. She worked out, but it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Then one morning I saw her on her bicycle. Air pods in, head bopping at the traffic light. Her outfit revealed another set of tattoos. These ran down her torso, a chorus of doves in flight, decorating her ribcage like lattice work. On her left shoulder was the ouroboros symbol. Two very distinct and profound symbols, occupying prime real estate on her body. She had lost someone.
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