Black script tattoo reading let it be across the top of a foot, in a fine cursive lettering style, with red nail polish visible on the toes.

Let it be script on the top of a foot

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo spells the words let it be in flowing cursive script, running diagonally across the top of the foot towards the ankle. The linework is fine and uniform in solid black ink, with the looped letters of the lettering clearly defined against the skin. The photograph is taken from above on a warm-toned, slightly dark background, with the toes visible at the top of the frame.

Lettering Other Let it be Script Word Foot

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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

Dear Marjorie,

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The kettle in Room Four has finally given up, so I'm writing this at the scrubbed kitchen table while Mrs Pell pretends not to read over my shoulder. The rain came in off the front at six and hasn't bothered to leave. You'll want to hear about the lodger in the attic. He paid up to the end of the month in coins, counting them out on the hall table like a man defusing something, then asked me whether the sea was always this loud.

I had no answer for him. I've kept this house for thirty-one years and I still lie awake listening to the groan of the pier. What I told him, and what I'm now telling you since you never listen when I give advice, is what Mother said the winter Dad went off to Grimsby and didn't write for a season: let it be. She said it the way you'd set down a heavy tray. She didn't mean give up. She meant put the weight somewhere it could rest.

Yesterday he came down with a pencil in his pocket and a sheet of paper and asked Mrs Pell to write the words out for him in her good hand. She refused, then did it anyway, the loops running off the edge like a wave dragging its foot back down the sand. He's having it done in Scarborough on Saturday, somewhere he'll see it every time he crosses a room.

I don't know whether he'll stay past Christmas. I hope he does, if only to hear the bath gurgle at midnight. Come up at the end of the month and we'll walk the groyne together, and you can tell me what you make of him. Bring the good tea. The gulls have started stealing the bread off the step again, and I find I don't mind.

Love, Edie