“Is that…?” I step closer, taking in the black ink etched into her skin between her collarbone and shoulder. It’s a camera, similar to the one she used to carry with her everywhere she went. Only instead of it being put together, the lens is broken, and pieces of it ascend up and over her shoulder. “Holy shit,” I breathe when I see the single word that’s scribbled across the front of the camera, where the brand name should go. “You got a tattoo of the song I wrote about you.”
