sad
last night I was unpacking some stuff and came across the old copy of Tattoo Savage magazine that my dead boyfriend had been in. When I was in high school I dated a tattoo artist and he died from a heroin overdose shortly after I moved to California. I knew that if he didn't call for two weeks that he was probably dead or in jail. It was exactly two weeks when I got the call from a friend at the wake. October will be the nine year anniversary. Reading through this old magazine, I realized that he was my age when he died. I always thought of him as being older, and now he's not. Somehow over the years I managed to forget his age altogether. It's really something to think about, dying at this age. All the accomplishments and things not yet accomplished. It still hurts a lot of think of him. When a junkie dies nobody has anything nice to say, and too many people took the opportunity to tell me all the horrible things they thought about him. I was going to do something special in his memory this year because nine is a special number.