Fine line black tattoo of a looping ribbon design with the word love in script on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Looped ribbon with script love on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single continuous black line forms a looping ribbon shape that curls up from a small loop at the top and sweeps down into a wide, open curve. The word love is written in cursive script across the lower part of the design, with the lines of the letters and the ribbon of similar weight. The tattoo is shown in black ink on pale skin against a light, softly blurred background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Ribbon Loop Love Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The river was up past the second lock at Torksey when Nell found the letter, folded inside a tobacco tin wedged under the Mary Ellen's bilge boards. Her father had kept the barge on the Trent for forty years and never once mentioned a sweetheart, so she sat on the cabin step with the tin in her lap and the rain ticking on the cratch cover, and read the first line twice.

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It was not addressed to her mother. It was written to Ruth at the chandlery in Gainsborough, in pencil gone silver with damp. He wrote about a tow line he could not splice, about a heron that stood on the same post every dawn like a clerk waiting for the bank to open, and about a length of blue ribbon he meant to buy her from the haberdasher's if the price of coal held. Nell tried to picture the chandlery. She could not, quite.

The last sheet had only one word on it, pressed so hard the pencil had torn the paper. Beneath it he had drawn a loop that never lifted from the page, curling up from a small knot and sweeping out wide, the way the current bends round the lock gates before it lets go. Nell carried the tin up to the lock office and asked the keeper whether Ruth still lived in Gainsborough. He looked at the tin, then at the water, and said she had been married to the miller these thirty years.

Nell folded the letter back along its creases, tied the tin shut with spare tow twine, and knotted the bundle to the tiller in one unbroken run of line, the way her father used to tie off his coat. The water kept moving under the hull. She did not post it. Some words, she decided, were better left to the river to carry.