Black fine line tattoo of a dandelion releasing seeds towards three birds, with the script 'i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)', on the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Dandelion seeds, birds and script on a shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A dandelion on the left releases seeds that drift towards three bird silhouettes on the right, with the words 'i carry your heart' above and '(i carry it in my heart)' below in cursive script. The tattoo uses solid black ink with fine linework on the seeds, stems and lettering. It sits on a bare upper back against a blurred green background.

Fine line Lettering Botanical Shoulder Dandelion Seed Bird Script Quote Lyric Silhouette

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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 bus shelter on Hyde Road had been your father's stop for thirty years, and tonight the glass was cracked in the same corner it always had been. You stood under the one working light holding a paper bag of his things: a cardigan, a tin of mints, a folded timetable he had never needed. Past the railings of the car park, a dandelion clock had pushed up through the tarmac, grey and gone to seed, the only thing on that road nobody had tidied away.

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Someone had sent you a photograph of that same clock the week before, and you had not replied. Now the wind came off the canal and lifted a handful of seeds into the sodium glow. They drifted over the cars like a breath let out slowly, and above them three starlings lifted from the roof of the multistorey, wheeled once together, and settled on the wire. You watched them until the 11.40 came round the bend, late as always.

On the top deck you took the left-hand seat so you could follow the seeds through the window, sailing past the shuttered kebab shop and the dark mill windows. The driver nodded at you as if he knew the route, which he did. At the terminus you walked the last street home with the bag against your hip, counting the silver specks the streetlamps caught, and by the time you reached your door you had stopped counting and started carrying them instead.