Small black fine line tattoo of an interlocked double infinity symbol on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Interlocked infinity symbol on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of two interlocked infinity loops, drawn in thin black linework with no shading. The design sits on the inner wrist and is shown in close, slightly angled view against a pale background. The ink is solid black and the outline is even and crisp.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Infinity Symbol Loop 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

Brother Anselm had told me the double loop was a sign of God's unending patience, and for thirty years he drew it in the margins of the psalter without once explaining why the Abbot wanted it stamped on every wool bale. The winter the Wharfe froze over, the scriptorium ran out of gall ink and I was sent down to the undercroft with a lamp, a list and a bad temper.

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The undercroft smelled of wet stone and tallow. Behind the barrels of fleece I found a shelf of ledgers, each page ruled in two columns, and in every margin the same figure eight laid on its side, its loops pulled tight, the crossing point inked darker than the rest. Beside the last ledger lay a knife, a spool of waxed thread and a scrap of parchment in Anselm's hand, the one he kept for feast days. It read: tell the boy the loop is not closed, only turned.

I took the ink and started up the stairs, but I stopped at the wool count and read it through. Forty years of sheep, eleven hundred fleeces a year, and every entry curled back on itself so that a clerk following the figure would arrive where he began and start again. I understood then that Anselm had never been drawing patience at all. He had been keeping a count, a way of making the work come round so that no one had to say the number aloud.

When the thaw came I carried the ledger to the Abbot. He turned it over, traced the crossing with his thumb and said nothing for so long that the candle guttered. Then he handed me the pen. Begin again, he said, and I did, following the figure outward from the knot until my hand ached and the ink ran true.