Close-up of a small black fine line tattoo of an outlined heart followed by the word dream in script, on the inside of a wrist above beaded bracelets.

Heart and dream script on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A thin black outline of a heart sits beside the handwritten word dream in a lowercase script. The linework is fine and even, with the letters slightly joined and the heart drawn as a single open loop. The ink is solid black against the skin, and the blurred purple and green background with wooden and bead bracelets sits behind the wrist.

Fine line Lettering Other Heart Dream Word Script

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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

Dear Nell, the old sign over the Harbour Tea Rooms came down this morning, and Mr Aske has finally let me hold a brush that isn't full of practice paint. The first thing he taught me was the heart. You draw it as one open loop, lifting the pen just before it would meet itself, so the eye does the closing. He says a heart that closes too neatly looks like it's been told to behave.

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The word beside it is the harder job. The d must lean back a little, the r must lean into the e so the letters hold hands, and every stroke must stay as thin as a hair from start to finish. He made me write dream forty times on brown paper before he would let me touch the good ink. Nobody reads a word they can see being written, he said, they only read the spaces between the letters, so the spaces had better be honest.

Yesterday a woman came in with a sketch folded in her glove. She wanted it small, for a place on the inside of her wrist where she could glance down while the kettle boiled. She didn't say what the dream was about, and Mr Aske didn't ask. I held the paper flat while he traced it onto the stencil, and the kettle started to sing in the back room.

I kept the spoiled sheets. Forty dreams, one heart beside each, and somewhere around the thirtieth the loops went wider and wider until the last one closed on itself like a fist. Burn them, he says. I've folded them into my coat instead. Yours, Tom.