Fine line script tattoo reading "Let it Be" in black ink on the inner forearm near the wrist, with stacked beaded bracelets below it.

"Let it Be" script on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a script tattoo reading "Let it Be" on the inner forearm near the wrist. The thin, flowing black linework has looping flourishes around the letters, and the ink appears slightly soft at the edges. Stacked turquoise, red, black and charm bracelets sit below the tattoo against a plain yellow background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Lettering Lyric Let it be

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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 radio in the bakery only picked up one station before five, and it was mostly crackle, so I hummed to fill the gaps. Dad hummed the same tune for thirty years over the same proving drawers, and I never once asked him which words went with it. The only line I ever caught was the one that kept coming back, let it be, let it be, which sounded to me like the advice of a man who had given up on his dough.

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On Sunday the girl from the flat above the chemist came down at half past four in her dressing gown. She'd lost her key and was too proud to knock on the neighbours. I sat her on an upturned crate by the flour sacks and gave her a split tin still warm from the first batch. She tore the crust with her thumbs and didn't say much. Her sister had gone to Leeds, her landlord wanted the place painted, and the whole street had an opinion. "Everyone wants me to decide something," she said.

I didn't have advice. I told her the bread didn't decide anything either. You shaped it, you left it under a cloth, and the oven did the rest. The best loaves were the ones you stopped poking. It was Dad's rule, and she laughed at it properly for the first time, wiping crumbs off her chin.

By six the windows had gone from black to bruised grey and the first van idled outside. She folded a cloth round her loaf, thanked me, and walked back up the road with no key and no plan, carrying something warm. That morning I chalked LET IT BE on the board by the till, under the prices. Nobody has asked what it means. Most of them read it and buy a bun.