Two photos of a black script tattoo reading Always in my heart within an infinity symbol, with a pink outlined heart, on the inner forearm.

Always in my heart script with infinity on forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo spells out the words Always in my heart in cursive lettering, with the loop of an infinity symbol running beneath and around the phrase. A small heart outlined in pink sits at the start of the lettering, and the rest of the design is in black ink. The top photo shows the piece on the inner forearm at a wider angle, and the lower photo is a close, straight-on view of the same tattoo.

Lettering Forearm Infinity Heart Script Quote

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tom Ashby worked the lock at Sallow Bend for thirty-one years, and in all that time the Mary Vane never came through it the same way twice. She was a narrowboat painted green and red, with a brass lamp at the stern, and she came down from Stourport every autumn with coal and went back up empty in spring. Her master was a quiet man called Edwin Crane, who tied up at the lock cottage each night and drank one cup of tea with Tom before moving on.

Keep reading

One November the river rose and the gates stuck. Tom worked the paddles alone for two days while the water tore at the beams. On the third morning Edwin's boat was still below the weir, so Tom rowed down with a rope in the rain. He found the Mary Vane turned broadside against the bank, her lamp unlit and no one aboard. Crane had gone over the side to free a snagged line and had not come up. Tom sat in the stern until dusk with the cold lamp in his lap.

Folk on the towpath say the boat came back each autumn after that, always from the south, always riding up through the lock on the evening tide, and always with a single cup set out on the table. Tom kept the cottage lamp burning for her and never went to bed before the gates had been checked. He chalked the date of each return on the lock wall, the way a man keeps a tally of something he cannot give back.

The last time, the wall was full. Tom was seventy-eight and had a cough that kept him by the fire. He heard the engine knock at the bend and went out with his stick, and the boat came up the cut under a sky like pewter, slow as a thought. Its cup was waiting on the table. He poured two, sat down opposite the empty chair, and drank his own while the water turned through the gates behind him, going round and round and always coming back to where it had started.