Stories hold kernels of truth. It’s not as romantic as they say: finding splinters of your own soul seems like it should be a joyous event, not the struggle for supremacy that it really is. Only one of us can remain, the other absorbed, and we are more whole for it. The tattoos of our absorbed splinters on our skin pay homage to the parts of ourselves we have found. The stories don’t say everything, though. I am bigger on the inside now. I am more. And I am becoming something else.