Black and grey drawing of two shaded eyes and a crescent moon above a line of text, with a row of sun, moon and star flash designs beneath.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Eyes, crescent moon and celestial flash designs

Black and grey · Flash

The drawing shows two shaded eyes with detailed lashes and brows, with a small outlined crescent moon above them. Below is a line of text about taking moments for granted, followed by a row of eight small celestial designs, including crescent moons, suns, stars and a moon with a face. The linework is fine and the shading is soft grey throughout, with no colour.

Eye Crescent moon Sun Star Celestial

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

My father kept a tally of the moon on the inside of the east wall, where the plaster had fallen away and the stone showed through like the ribs of something. Every night he scratched a crescent with the point of his knife, and every morning he told me there was no hurry, that the moon was a patient creditor and we would settle when we settled. I was nine. I thought the wall would hold the numbers forever.

Keep reading

The castle at Wrenmoor had been a ruin for as long as anyone in the valley could remember, roofless and nettled, its chapel open to the weather. We had no roof either, only the broken tower where the stairs ended in air. We climbed it at dusk to watch the lamps come on in the village below, and he would name the stars for me, Vega, Arcturus, the Plough, and when I asked what the sun was called he only laughed and said the sun had no name because it never needed one, it simply came back.

The winter I turned sixteen he went down to the village for salt and did not come up the hill again. I climbed the tower alone every evening after that and counted the scratches on the wall, then I stopped counting, because I had begun to believe the way he had: that there would be another night, and another, and the sky would keep its appointments.

This spring I took the knife to the wall myself. Beside his last mark I cut a sun, a rough ring with rays, then a moon with a face looking back at me. The stone flaked under the blade. Below, the lamps were lighting one by one, and I held the blade up to the last of the light and counted them, slowly, the way you count things you have finally understood are finite.