What's with the tattoo?

On my wrist, is a tattoo of an envelope with a heart on the flap. Strange, I know. Most people don't get it. Most people don't get me.

People always ask. We'll be in the middle of a bar, or a party, or eating in a restaurant, and they'll ask. And I'll shrug, and say I don't want to explain.

Anyway, I had viet coffee again. I drank it at 1 p.m., which I thought was a safe hour, but here I am, awake at 3:22 a.m. So here's what it means.

It's for my inability to be happy in any one place for too long. It's for this need I always seem to have with running away, for the sake of growing up, for the sake of sanity. It's letters home, for everyone I always find myself leaving behind, for everyone I've ever loved that I can't be near. I'm consistently leaving people behind. It's letters to everyone that can't be here, in this moment. It's for everything I could never say to my mother, for our language barrier, for our differences, our inability to understand the worlds in which we grew up in. It's for everything I could never express to my dad. It's for everything I will never say to the father, who was once married to my mother, who loved me as he knew, who I hope is happy somewhere. And it's for everything I could never say, written in a letter, to you. I was never good with words in the verbal medium.

This is why I don't explain these things when people ask. It's rather a long story.