Two people show matching black script lettering tattoos reading shall never drift apart, placed along the collarbone and upper shoulder.

Matching script quote tattoos on two collarbones

Lettering · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

Two people are shown from the shoulder up, each with the same line of cursive script tattooed along the collarbone, with only the last words clearly legible. The lettering is in black ink with fine, even strokes and a slight slant, and the skin tones are natural under soft indoor light. The composition is close and cropped, with the two tattoos placed side by side and a white top and a bra strap visible at the edges.

Lettering Shoulder Script Quote Word Collarbone

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind has backed to the north again, and you are on the gallery at Scar Head with the lamp dark because the spare mantle never came over on the Thursday boat. Across the channel, a mile and a half of grey chop away, your sister's light is working its slow count, two long and one short, which means she has seen the fog bank too. Your father drilled you in that code on a slate in the kitchen when you were eight, and you have never once let it go unanswered.

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The letter came over last week, folded inside the oilskin of the Thursday boat. She wrote that she had found the scrap of tin you two had scratched under the boathouse lintel as children, the one with the crooked letters and the sea-salt rust, and that she had been reading it every night before the watch. You remember the line. Whatever the tide does, we shall never drift apart. You wrote back on the reverse of a tide table, underlined twice, and walked it to the boat yourself so the spray could not get at it.

By dusk the fog has closed over the water entirely, and her light is only a rumour behind the grey. You strike a match, coax the wick up by hand, and begin turning the crank so the beam sweeps out in long, patient arcs. Two long, one short. Nothing. Then, faint as a pulse in a wrist, her answer comes back through the murk, and you lean on the iron rail with your palms cold and count it twice to be certain. Keep the count going. Two long, one short, until the fog lifts and her light is standing exactly where you left it.