Deep Like Tattoo
The bluish streak on my hand was almost gone, a ghost of last night’s newest obsession. I’d mapped a bold guitar-practice schedule with the same excitement that once kept me coding C++ past midnight, that once lit football fields under floodlights. Every passion had burned bright… then peeled away like festival paint rinsed in the morning shower.
Body art knows three destinies. Paint flares for a day, henna lingers for a week, but a tattoo resigns itself to permanence. Our skills follow the same biology. Curiosity stains the epidermis of attention; disciplined practice reaches the dermis; identity inks itself where time can’t easily erase.
The world will keep selling us fresh colors. We can keep rinsing. Or we can choose a single design, brave the needle of repetition, and let the quiet pain of patience turn practice into something skin-deep—into something that speaks our story before we open our mouths.
What mark will you still wear ten years from today? Sit, decide, endure, heal, return. Go deep—like tattoo.
