Small black script word Love inside an outline heart tattoo on the inner wrist, in a fine line lettering style.

Love script in a heart on a wrist

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a small black tattoo on the wrist, showing the word Love in flowing script with a thin outline heart curling around it. The linework is solid and even, with no shading, and the ink is a dark blue-black. The tattoo sits in the centre of the frame against plain skin, with a blurred denim background at the edges.

Lettering Fine line Hand Love Heart Script Word

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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 brush had gone stiff in its tin, so I was working with spit and patience when the widow Varga came up the switchbacks with a paper folded in her glove. She wanted a word painted over the byre door at the top of Kessen Pass, nothing more. Her note had the word written out in pencil, and a heart drawn around it that wobbled like a loose wheel.

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I told her a signwriter charges by the letter. She said she had counted, and she had twenty pounds and one word. I asked which word, though I could see it plainly. She unfolded the paper so I could see it properly: Love, looping down the middle, the heart curling round it so the tail of the L became the point of the shape. Her husband Istvan had cut the same thing into the lintel forty years back, and the frost had taken it. She wanted paint this time, because paint was what they could afford, and because paint could be redone.

I worked three days. Mist came down the pass each afternoon and I had to wait with the brush held off the wood, watching the mules pick their way past like grey thoughts. I learned her hand by copying the pencil again and again on the back of a feed bill, until my wrist knew the curl of the heart before my eyes did. On the third morning the sun cleared the ridge and I finished the last stroke of the e, thin as a hair, and climbed down to fetch the ladder.

Varga came out with a loaf under her arm and read the board for a long time. Then she reached up and pressed her thumb to the wet edge of the heart, testing it the way you would test bread. When she lifted her hand there was a smear of blue-black on her skin. "Good," she said, and went back inside with the bread, leaving her print on the lintel beside the word.