Fine line black tattoo of a feather inside an infinity symbol with the words life and love, sitting on the inner forearm.

Infinity feather with life and love on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small feather is drawn across the centre of an infinity symbol, with the script words life and love written inside the two loops. The linework is thin and dark, with soft shading along the feather's barbs to suggest its texture. The tattoo is shown in black ink on a pale forearm against a blurred, warm-toned background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Feather Infinity symbol Script Life Love

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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 closer, the lamp only lights one face at a time and I'll not have you sulking at the back. Now. The gull that dropped the feather was called Crake, and he had come down off the Pentland Firth with one wing hanging loose and a long way still to go. He landed on the rail of the Marigold just as she cleared the harbour wall, and the cook, a woman called Nell Ashdown with flour up to her elbows, shooed him off with a ladle. He left her a feather as the price of his dignity, grey-brown and soft at the edges, and it fell straight into her ink pot.

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Nell was no scholar, but she kept the ship's ledger because the captain could not spell, and she had a habit of writing small things in the margins to stop herself going mad in the doldrums. That night, with the sea moving under the galley like a sleeping animal, she dipped the feather and wrote the first word she could think of on the back of a tally sheet. Life. Then she wrote love beside it, and found the two words wanted to be joined, so she drew a loop around each one, and the loops would not close, so she drew them round again, one after another, the way the sea does when it can't decide where it ends. The feather lay across the middle like a bridge.

When the Marigold docked at Leith six weeks later, the cabin boy, Tobias, who had been sick every day out and was going home to his mother, came to say goodbye. Nell pressed the tally sheet into his hands, tore the feather from its quill and tucked it behind his ear. He didn't understand a word of it. Nobody ever does, at first. He only knew it was the only thing on the ship that had ever been drawn for him, and he carried it up the gangway without once looking back at the water.