I got my first tattoo at thirteen, and I cried like a little bitch. We all got one at the same time. We always called her our wildflower, and when she died, we all had a forget-me-not tattooed over our hearts. A symbol of true love and that we would never forget her. Which was a crock of shit because as soon as we had a taste of freedom, we did whatever it took to forget the pain, which meant burying everything about her.
