I’ve gotten a lot of questions about my tattoo over the past year. Ranging from specifics such as “what horoscope is that?” to as broad as “what constellation?” I always feel a bit silly when I have to explain that it’s not a real constellation. It’s from a book. But that book rewrote my life to the point that I imprinted it onto my skin to remind myself of its mark on me. 

“The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” by V.E. Schwab tells the story of a woman who makes a deal with the darkness. In her desperation to be free from the societal expectations of women in 1714 France, she makes a bargain of immortality and is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets.

Imagine talking to your best friend and they turn away for one second, just to catch a glimpse of whatever caught their eye before turning back with no idea who you are. Imagine your family throws you out because you return home and they no longer recognize you. Imagine you fall asleep next to your love and when they wake up they offer to pay you with no recognition in their eyes.

Thus is the invisible life of Addie LaRue. 

The reader follows Addie’s solitary life over 300 years, always placing significant emphasis on that terrible anniversary of her deal: July 29. While traveling the world and meeting influential people from different eras of history, she learns to leave a mark on the world in the only way she can — through art. Her own writing, painting and reciting are all magically erased, her voice ripped from her lungs. As she cannot create her own art, Addie exists as a muse for others, losing herself in her mission to be some small part of the world she traded away.

Until everything changes in March 2014. Henry Strauss works in a tiny bookstore in New York City, navigating the uncertainty of midlife as a deeply emotional person in a perpetually uncaring world. When he runs after a girl who stole a book from the store he changes everything with three simple words: “I remember you.”

This is a story of loneliness, longing and lust for life. The prose is lyrical and personal, digging into the reader’s soul, releasing their deepest, locked up thoughts. It takes on a life of its own, lifting off the page to become something more than literature — something wonderful and otherworldly.

There’s something about this book that speaks to me in a way that no other ever has nor likely ever will. I first read it freshman year of high school, a time of inner turmoil, of uncertainty about who I was and who I wanted to be. A time when I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be heard. 

The stories of Addie and Henry gave a quiet girl the courage to join her school newspaper, to work her way up to Editor-in-Chief, to continue in college and pursue her dreams of publishing by any means necessary. 

I can’t really say which character I identify with more. Addie and Henry are important to me in different ways; they have become a part of both my past and my future. Addie represents my fears — of being alone, of not making a mark. She has made me brave, made me prioritize my voice in a way I never imagined I could. And Henry represents my overthinking. Too much, not enough and everything in between. He has made me feel less alone in the sea of my own mind.

I think it’s very rare in this world to find something so perfectly raw and real that you feel seen in the most beautiful way. Because that’s what we all want, isn’t it? We want to be seen, which is why we chase what we think is love, but in reality is just attention. But “The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” taught me that real love — being truly seen for who you are — is worth waiting for.

So the seven stars on the inside of my right arm are there to memorialize Addie and Henry, their stories and the mark they left on my life. All those July 29s and “little pink umbrellas” that make up one of my favorite pieces of literature of all time.