Two clasped hands show matching black lettering tattoos on the forearms, set in a typewriter-style font that reads everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Matching quote tattoos on forearms

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people hold hands so that their forearms show matching tattoos of the phrase everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt, set in a typewriter-style serif font. The lettering is set in solid black ink with clean, even strokes, and the tattoos sit side by side on the inner forearms. The photograph is warm and slightly soft, with one person in a green top and denim jeans with a brown belt, and a light, checked fabric on the other side of the frame.

Lettering Forearm Quote Hand Matching tattoo Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tinker came along the coast road the week the Harvest Hall flooded, pushing a handcart with a typewriter strapped to it like a sleeping dog. He would not sell anything. He asked only for a sitting in exchange for a line of words, and he wanted them set on two arms at once, so that neither party could carry them alone. He inked the letters by hand with a needle as fine as a hair, and he would not say where he had learnt them. The whole village came down to the chapel steps to watch.

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Mirren Pell and her cousin Ada had not spoken since the dance in August, when Ada danced twice with the miller's son and Mirren walked home alone through the rain. The tinker looked at the two of them standing side by side and said it was the best arrangement he had seen all year. He set them forearm to forearm, and while the fiddler scraped out a reel for the crowd, he wrote everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt along the inside of each arm in the same even black strokes.

Ada said afterwards it stung like a wasp and that she had not cried. Mirren said nothing at all, because she was counting the stitches in her own wrist. By the next spring the hall was dry again and they danced in it every Saturday, the words showing at the wrist where a partner would see them. Whenever the tide came over the sea wall and the lamps guttered, one of them would take the other's hand, and the two marks would lie flat together like facing pages in the same book.

When the water reached the third step of the hall that last winter, they stood on the boards holding hands and did not look down at their arms, because they had no need to. The words had gone into them plain and steady, and the fiddle kept time.