Black cursive script quote tattooed along the inner forearm, written across two lines in fine black ink.

Cursive quote on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A two-line quote in flowing black cursive script runs along the inner forearm. The linework is fine and even, with the ink solid and dark against the skin. The image is a close, straight-on crop of the arm against a plain light background.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Quote Handwriting Text

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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 kettle has gone cold twice while I've been writing this, and Mrs Okafor downstairs has stopped thumping her broom, so it must be past two. Outside, the bus shelter on Harrow Road is empty except for a pigeon with a bent foot, asleep on the timetable. I keep starting this letter and tearing it up, because every opening sounds like a card you'd buy at the petrol station. So you'll have to take it plain.

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Dad's old biscuit tin is still on the windowsill, the one with the Coronation lid, full of your pencils. You left them when you went north, every stub sharpened down by a boy who never once finished a drawing. Last Sunday I tipped them out looking for a stamp and found a folded sheet at the bottom in your looping hand, dated the week before you left. It was a list. Under the heading 'things to fix before Mum notices' there were eleven items, and the last one was just 'me'.

I laughed, then I didn't. I'd spent the whole summer believing you'd gone because I'd made staying impossible, with the rows about the rent and the way I stood in doorways. But the list says you were already writing yourself out of the picture so I wouldn't have to watch. You gave away the best things you owned, the bike, the watch, the good coat, and called it tidying up.

So I've sharpened the blue pencil you hated down to the nub and I'm copying your writing onto the back of the gas bill, practising the loops until they look like they belong to someone who isn't frightened. It's a terrible imitation. Come home at Easter and tell me where I've got the capitals wrong.