Thin black script reading hakuna matata inside an infinity symbol, tattooed on the inner forearm in a fine line lettering style.

Hakuna matata infinity script on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A fine black line drawing of an infinity symbol wraps around the words hakuna matata in cursive script across the inner forearm. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the lettering flows along the loop of the symbol. The plain pale skin and soft green background keep the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Infinity symbol Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody at the Hollins Road reunion could agree on who had started it, but by ten o'clock the whole hall was chanting the words Mr Okafor used to say whenever the Year Eleven coursework went missing. Hakuna matata. No worries. He had said it so often that we heard it in our sleep, and forty of us, grey at the temples and holding paper cups of warm cava, shouted it at the ceiling like a password nobody had told the caretaker about.

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Gareth Pim found me beside the bunting. He still tapped his fingers against his thigh, counting something only he could hear. He held out his phone, and on the screen was a drawing of a figure eight, a fine black loop with the words running along it like a stream bending round a stone. His daughter had asked for it for her eighteenth, he said, and he had never told her that the phrase was the only useful thing Mr Okafor ever taught him. "Mine's still just an idea," he said. "I keep drawing it on napkins."

We talked about the cross-country run we both hated, and the winter the sycamore came down across the bike sheds. He admitted he had spent twenty years worrying about things he could not change. I said I had mostly just missed buses. He laughed properly then, and for a moment we were eleven again, sharing one biro under a desk that smelled of pencil shavings.

When the caretaker finally flicked the lights off, Gareth walked me out to the car park. Under the sodium lamp he drew a figure eight in the condensation on my window with one finger, then wrote the words through its middle, backwards, so I could read them from inside. Same time next year, he said. Round we go.