Black fine line script tattoo reading I love you across the inner forearm near the wrist, in a black and white photo.

I love you script on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black script tattoo reads I love you across the inner forearm close to the wrist, with the I partly cut off at the left edge. The linework is thin and even, with a handwritten, slightly looping letterform and solid black ink. The photo is black and white against a dark background, with the tattoo centred in a tight crop.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Word Wrist

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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

Sit in close, the lot of you, because the lamps on Tanner Street are going out one by one and I'll not shout over the gulls. You want the tale of Mabel Ruddock and the crate of peaches? Then hush. Mabel kept the ledger at Pell and Sons on the Humber quay, where the cranes swung all night and the men talked in hooks and oaths.

Keep reading

Her hand was a looping thing that her schoolmistress called fast and foolish, and the foremen called it neat enough to trust with the tally. One wet Tuesday a crate of tinned peaches came up from the hold with a scrap of paper folded under its lid. It was pencil, pressed hard, and the edge had been torn away so that it read only 'love you', with a stub of an I hanging off the left. Somebody had meant the whole of it for one pair of eyes.

Mabel walked the quay for a week with that scrap in her coat pocket, asking every man with a limp and a grin whether he'd packed the peaches. Old Harry swore he'd only ever packed fish. Young Greave, who could not read the ledger but could lift a barley sack onto his shoulder with one hand, went red to the ears and said nothing at all, which Mabel took for either guilt or shyness and never quite decided which.

She didn't find him that season. Instead she wrote back on the next manifest in the same looping hand, 'Wrong crate, you great lump. Try the herring,' and slid it under the lid of a tin she sent down into the hold on the Thursday tide. Three weeks later the tin came up again, and on its label, in the stubbiest letters ever made, someone had scratched 'Got your note. Coming up.' And he did. Mabel married him in March, and to this day the peaches on Gallow Quay are sold in pairs, so mind you don't go eating the one without the other.