Black and white photo of a fine line script tattoo reading if i could fly on a shoulder, with a striped top at the edge of the frame.

Fine line script quote on the shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a single line of cursive script reading if i could fly, placed across the top of a shoulder and partly onto the upper back. The linework is thin and even, with a uniform dark ink and no shading. The photo is black and white, with the striped fabric of a top framing the lower left and the tattoo sitting near the centre right.

Fine line Lettering Shoulder Script Quote Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marguerite had been walking the footpath of the Tyne Bridge since half eleven, counting the lamps the way her father used to count stitches, and the wind off the river kept finding the gap at her collar. Below, the water was black and busy with reflected orange. She had come up here to be sensible about things, which was why she had brought her mother's sewing scissors and a letter she had not yet decided to post.

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A man in a reflective tabard came along the walkway pushing a barrow of litter pickers and stopped beside her as if the bridge had asked him to. He did not look at her face. He looked at the railing, where someone had scratched initials into the green paint years ago, and said the council painted over them every spring and they always came back by June. She laughed before she could stop herself, and the sound surprised her enough that she turned round to face him properly.

"You're not the first to stand here with a letter," he said. "Most of them post the thing in the bin at Gateshead and go home for their tea."

She looked at the envelope in her hand, at her mother's looping handwriting on the front, and then she folded the pages into a paper aeroplane with the stiff, careful creases her hands remembered from school. She stepped to the rail. The plane caught the lamplight for a moment, tipped, and dropped short of the water, turning once in the dark before the river took it. The man nodded as if he had seen worse landings, and went on pushing his barrow towards the Newcastle end, and Marguerite stood a while longer, lighter by a few sheets of paper and not much else.