Close-up of a black fine line script tattoo reading forever in my heart with the date 2.15.12, placed across the top of a shoulder.

Forever in my heart script on shoulder

Lettering · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a handwritten script reading forever in my heart, with the numerals 2.15.12 set on a second line to the right. The linework is thin and even in black ink, with no shading. The skin around it looks slightly pink, and the text runs diagonally across the frame against plain skin.

Lettering Fine line Shoulder Script Quote Date Numeral

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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

Ada Penhallow had kept the lamp at Scarrow Point for nineteen winters, and she had never once been late with the wick. On the fifteenth of February the wind backed south-west and the sea got up in grey ridges that broke white against the skerries. She climbed the iron stairs with the logbook under one arm and a flask of tea she had forgotten to pour out.

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The relief boat had not come across since Thursday. Her son Tom was aboard the Mary Jane, somewhere between the harbour and the point, and the glass in the lamp room had dropped all afternoon like a stone sinking down a well. She trimmed the wick, rubbed the lens with the chamois her husband had used before her, and wrote the date in the log in her careful schoolroom hand. Beneath it, because the rules said nothing against it, she wrote the words he used to say when he went out in the dark: forever in my heart.

Near two in the morning a light showed low on the water, bobbing, then steady. It was not the Mary Jane's lantern. It was a torch held up on the shingle below, waved in the old pattern the fishermen used to signal the keeper. Ada laid her palm flat against the cold glass and counted the flashes, one, two, three, the way Tom had learned to count them as a boy. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.

At first light the boat limped into the cove with the mast gone and her crew bruised but breathing. Tom stepped onto the slipway, looked up at the tower, and raised his hand. Ada opened the log and read her entry again, the date sitting above the words like a marker on a cliff path, and for once she did not feel the need to hurry the ink dry.