Fine line infinity symbol tattoo on the inner forearm with the script words life and love and a grey shaded feather.

Infinity feather with life and love on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A fine line infinity symbol with the script words life on the left loop and love on the right loop, with a feather drawn across the centre. The feather is shaded in soft greys to give it volume, while the lettering and outline are thin black lines. The design sits horizontally across the forearm on a light skin tone, with a blurred reddish background behind the arm.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Infinity Feather Script Life Love

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp in the back parlour of Mrs Pettigrew's boarding house on the Dorset cliffs never worked properly, so we read letters by the grey light off the sea. My brother Tom found the shoebox under the stairs the week the lodgers left for good. Inside were forty-one letters tied with a length of brown string, every one addressed to a Mr Walter Quill, care of the Harbour Post Office, and every one returned unopened with a feather tucked in the envelope. Gulls, Tom said. Somebody's been collecting gulls. I told him feathers don't come from gulls, not the soft grey sort, and I was right, because the last envelope had a grey one, long as my hand, pressed flat as a leaf.

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The final letter was from Walter himself, never sent. He wrote that he had been a fool about the sea and about his wife, that the boat had come back without him and he had gone on living in a town where nobody needed him to be anything. He wrote one word over and over at the bottom of the page, the way a child tries out a signature, and the word was love, and beside it he had drawn a loop that bent back on itself like a figure eight lying down, and a second loop, and between them the feather.

Tom wanted to post the lot to the harbour office that afternoon. I took the letter upstairs instead and read it again by the window, where the light was better, and I counted the loops. Two. I have never once in my life seen a loop that closed without meaning to. We walked down to the post office with the shoebox under Tom's arm, and the clerk, a young woman with a pencil behind her ear, looked at the name and laughed, then went quiet. Mr Quill, she said. He's been dead eleven years. Then she asked if we wanted to know where he was buried, and when we said yes, she gave us a feather from her own coat, and told us to leave it there.