Black script tattoo reading Love Never Fails with a small cross at the end, on the lower back of a person wearing dark clothing.

Love Never Fails script with cross on lower back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a black script reading Love Never Fails, running diagonally across the lower back, with a small cross at the end of the final word. The linework is fine and even, with a clean, open letter form and no visible shading. The photograph is taken at a close angle under warm indoor light against a plain skin tone and a dark waistband.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The letter came with the seed packets, folded twice around a pressed primrose that had gone the colour of weak tea. Marjorie read it standing at the back door with the kettle shrieking behind her, and then she read it again sitting down, which was the only way she could manage the second reading at all.

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It was from Owen, her brother-in-law's youngest, who had moved to Leeds for a job in insurance and had never once in twelve years written her anything longer than a birthday card. He wrote that he had found the old potting shed key on his father's ring and wanted to know whether the rhubarb still came up by the wall. He wrote that he was sorry about the funeral, that he had stood at the back because he could not stand the front. At the bottom, in a hand that leaned forward as if in a hurry, he had written three words and a little cross beside them, the way his grandmother used to sign off the church newsletter.

She went out in her slippers to the wall. The rhubarb was up, red at the crowns, pushing through the nettles like it had never once been told it might not. She knelt on the damp sack she kept for the purpose and dug her fingers into the cold soil until she found the old tin marker stake her husband had painted years ago, its letters nearly rubbed away.

She wrote back that evening on the back of a seed catalogue. She told Owen the rhubarb was up, and that he should come in April, when the crowns were fat and the pie was worth the trip. Then she signed it with the cross, because it was the only one of the three words she had been sure of all winter.

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