Close-up of a black script tattoo reading Believe on the inner forearm near the wrist, beside woven coloured and beige bracelets.

Believe script tattoo on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black script word reading Believe runs diagonally across the inner forearm near the wrist. The lettering has smooth, even linework with thicker strokes on the capital B and a fine, tapered finish on the letters that follow. Woven bracelets in red, blue, yellow, beige and a pearl bead sit above the tattoo, and another hand is softly blurred in the background.

Lettering Forearm Believe Script Word Bracelet

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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

The bracelets came in a Tupperware box on the Tuesday, found under seat 14C of the 16:42 to Carlisle, a tangle of red, blue and yellow thread knotted around a single pearl bead. Mrs Okafor from the cleaning contract tipped the lot onto my counter with the air of someone emptying a bin. I have sorted lost property at Penrith for twenty-two years, and I know the difference between rubbish and something somebody will come back for.

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I tried the usual ways. I checked the tag system, pinned a notice to the board, and rang the number written on the back of a ticket stub, which turned out to belong to a tyre firm in Workington. Nobody claimed them. Gary on the platform said they looked like the sort of thing a girl makes at a festival, and that was probably that. But the thread was worn soft at the knots, and one strand of beige had been wound so many times it had gone grey. Someone had worn those every day, not tossed them away on a whim.

On Friday a woman came to the window asking after a brown umbrella. While I wrote up the form, she glanced at the bag on the shelf and went quiet. She didn't ask for it. She asked whether I could keep it a little longer, then turned back towards the platform before I could say yes or no.

That evening I hung the bracelets on the hook beside the coat rack, where the lost gloves go. Beneath them I pinned a card in my neatest hand, the way I would label anything precious: Keep for the one who comes back. The 16:42 pulled out at six, and the platform lights came on one by one along the empty line.