Black script word love within an infinity symbol, a fine line lettering tattoo on the inner wrist of a raised hand.

Infinity symbol with script love on wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph of a black script word 'love' drawn inside an infinity symbol on the inner wrist. The linework is smooth and even, with the lettering and loop shown in solid black ink against the skin. The background shows a raised hand with painted nails and a wooden floor, with the tattoo centred in the lower half of the frame.

Lettering Forearm Infinity Love Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the swell finally dropped enough for us to get the grapnel down, and Mr Haskell has me on the splice again because my fingers are the only ones small enough for the armour wire. We found the fault forty miles west of the Scillies, a bite taken clean out of the cable, probably by a trawler's otter board. I have spent three nights on my knees in a steel cabin that smells of tar and stewed tea, and my knuckles look like I've been fighting the sea itself.

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What I want to tell you about is the coiling. The cable goes down into the tank in a figure of eight so it can pay out without kinking, the two loops crossing over each other like the sign you once drew on my cuff in ink that never came off. Haskell says a good coil lies flat and forgets which way it was bent. I have been thinking that a message travels the same way, current going out through one loop and coming back through the other, and that the crossing point is the only place the two halves ever touch.

Last night the test came back clean along the whole length. Haskell entered the reading in the log in his careful copperplate, and then, without asking me, he wrote one word beneath it and blotted it with his sleeve. I asked him what he had written. He said the men always put something on a good night, and that the sea had no use for our names anyway. I didn't argue, because he was right about the sea and wrong about the rest.

I have kept the spare length we cut away, about three fathoms of it, and it sits coiled on the shelf above my bunk. When I come home in March, I'll unroll it on your kitchen floor so you can follow the loop with your finger until you find the place where the wire crosses itself. That is where I have written you. Yours, Tom.