Fine line black script tattoo reading "Remember that I love you" running along the inner forearm near the wrist.

Handwritten quote along the inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A thin, cursive script in black ink reads "Remember that I love you" in a single line running along the inner forearm towards the wrist. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading, and the letters have a slightly slanted, handwritten feel. The arm is photographed against a plain beige carpet, with the hand raised and only partly in frame.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Handwriting Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit nearer the stove, the frost has got into the lane again and I'll not shout over the wind. Ruth Halloran kept nine ewes and a sharp tongue on Carrow Hill, and on the morning of the big snow she wrote on the back of a feed bill, because it was the only paper in the kitchen not already spoken for. She dipped the steel nib in the ink bottle she kept for the ledger and pressed hard, the way her husband had when he signed for stock. Her hand was never neat. It sloped forward as if it were hurrying somewhere.

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Her son Tom took the milk lorry to Leeds that same afternoon with a suitcase and a cough. Ruth slipped the folded bill into his coat pocket and told him not to be a fool about it. He wasn't, he was worse, he never once unfolded it. It went with him through a factory in Holbeck, two flats with damp walls, and a winter of tinned peaches for his tea. Each time he changed coats he moved the bill across without looking, the way you carry a stone picked up on a walk that you can't bring yourself to throw away.

Six winters later he came back up Carrow Hill in a borrowed car with the snow piled to the hedges. The house was cold and the ewes were shouting in the top field. He found the bill in the old coat on the hook and stood in the kitchen to read it, which took him no time at all. Remember that I love you. Mind the gate, it sticks.

He minded the gate. He put his shoulder to the post and lifted it on its hinge the way she had shown him at nine years old, and the ewes came down the lane one after another through the white, as if they had been waiting for someone foolish enough to come back.