Black and white photo of two people's bare shoulder blades, each with a matching fine script quote tattoo in the lettering style, placed on the upper back.

Matching quote tattoos on two backs

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

Two people sit side by side showing their bare upper backs. The left tattoo reads "Together forever, never apart..." and the right reads "...maybe in distance, but never in heart", with the lines continuing across both shoulder blades. The thin, slightly slanted black script is set against plain skin, and paper cups and a table sit in the background.

Lettering Fine line Back Script Quote Text Couple Matching

Find an artist for this

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 sentence was written on the back of a railway timetable, in pencil that smudged if you breathed on it. Ruth tore the card down the middle in the signal box at Thornbeck, the kettle already shrieking behind her, and gave Margaret the larger piece, because Margaret was the one leaving on the 6.12 for Leeds with a cardboard suitcase and a cough she insisted was nothing.

Keep reading

"Read yours," Margaret said on the platform. Ruth didn't need to. She had the first half by heart: together forever, never apart. Her own piece held the other half, the part that admitted the distance, and she thought it a poor bargain for a girl who had never been further than Scarborough.

Margaret wrote every second Sunday from a dye works that stained her fingers blue to the knuckle. Ruth wrote back about the weather on the points and the tabby cat that had learned to ring the bell by walking across the lever frame. Neither of them mentioned the card. It lived in a biscuit tin with the spare fuses and the ration books, its edges furred soft as cloth.

The winter the Leeds line froze, the letters stopped for six weeks. When the thaw came, a parcel arrived at the box in Margaret's careful hand. Inside, wrapped in a dye-stained handkerchief, was her half of the card, creased into a square, with a note that said only: Saturday, the 6.12, if you can get the cat to mind the bell. Ruth fetched her piece from the tin, laid the two halves edge to edge on the signal box table, and watched the pencil run clean across the tear as if it had never been torn at all.