Hand-drawn flash design of the word Love in dark swirling script, with two birds, a pink frangipani and vines. No body placement is shown.

Love script with birds and frangipani

Mixed · Flash

The word Love is drawn in a dark grey, curling script with ornate swirls and tendrils. A large pink frangipani flower sits beside the letters, with a curl of small gold dots above it, and two stylised birds perch on the lettering, one pale blue and pink and one with a small red bud near its beak. Small pink and red flowers accent the vines, and the wide composition is balanced on a plain white background.

Love Script Bird Flower Vine Swirl Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain has been coming sideways down Caddick's Yard since seven, and you have stopped pretending the buckets of tulips will sell. Dennis on the fish stall has given up shouting over the gutter. Across the cobbles Ines is wrapping her frangipani in cling film, the pink petals already bruised at the edges, and every few minutes she glances up at the iron sign above her awning, the one with the curling letters and the two birds that never fly off it, not even in a storm.

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You know what is folded in the inside pocket of your coat. Three drafts, the last one written on the back of a seed invoice, and one line you crossed out twice before deciding it was true. You meant to leave it under a pot on her stall in January, but the wind took it halfway to the drains and you chased it past the bakers until it sank into a puddle. You never gave it to her. You dried the page flat on the radiator and have carried it about ever since, like something you nearly lost and didn't quite.

Ines looks up and sees you, and for once she doesn't pretend to be busy. 'Your umbrella will blow inside out,' she says. 'Then come under mine,' you say, which is not what you rehearsed. She laughs, rain running off the brim of her cap, and pulls a single frangipani from the bucket, its gold-dotted centre curled like the tendrils on the sign. 'Read it to me,' she says, 'or I'll read it myself.'

You unfold the page. The ink has run into blue smudges, but the word at the top has survived the wet, and the rain keeps drumming on the awning while the two painted birds sit slick and still above you, watching as if they have always known how this would end.