Flash sheet of black ink infinity symbol designs, each with a single handwritten script word such as love, family, music or faith, on white paper.

Infinity symbol lettering flash sheet

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

A flash sheet of about twenty infinity-loop designs drawn in bold black ink on white paper, each carrying a single handwritten script word or phrase. Some loops include small music notes, and one word runs vertically down the centre of the sheet. The linework is confident and calligraphic with thick and thin strokes, and the sheet is entirely black and white with no colour.

Lettering Infinity Script Lettering Music note Love Family Faith Strength Believe

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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

The sheet came out of the tack room drawer on the morning the first ewe started lambing, folded in four and gone soft at the creases, tucked under a tin of baler twine and a bill for diesel nobody had paid. Mum had drawn it at the kitchen table the winter Dad's hip went, twenty loops of ink stacked down the page like fence posts, each one carrying a word she couldn't say out loud. Believe. Thankful. Evaporate, which she had spelled three ways before she was satisfied. Refuse you, with the you squeezed small at the end where she'd run out of room.

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Tom read them over my shoulder while I held the lamp for the ewe. He is the one who thinks everything is a sign. "Which one's yours," he said, and I said I hadn't decided, which was a lie, because I had been deciding since October, in the cold of the parlour with the radio on low.

The snow came in sideways after dark and filled the gateway to the lower field. We worked the ewe between us, Tom with his sleeves rolled and his arms steaming, me with my gloves in my pocket because the lamb was turned and I needed both hands. It came out blue and then pink, then sneezed as if it had been insulted. Tom laughed so hard he had to sit down in the straw.

At four in the morning we walked back to the house through the new snow, leaving two sets of prints and a third the fox had made earlier, looping round and round like someone who had lost their way on purpose. Under the porch light I unfolded the sheet and found the loop I wanted, Music with its one small note, and wrote beside it in pencil: not yet. Some words wait for the spring.