Two people seen from behind showing fine line script tattoos on their shoulders, one reading together forever never apart with a small heart and the other reading maybe in distance but never in with a

Matching script quotes on two shoulders

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

Two people are photographed from behind, each with a line of cursive script on the upper back near the shoulder blade. The left tattoo reads together forever, never apart with a small heart, and the right reads maybe in distance, but never in with a heart. The black ink is fine and even, and the sepia-toned photo shows a domestic interior through a doorway behind them.

Fine line Lettering Shoulder Script Quote Heart Two people

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 last big top of the Pellow Circus sagged on a Lincolnshire field in October, and the Mardle sisters, Agnes and Ivy, sat on an upturned crate and counted what the show still owned. One wire. Two spools of red cord. A pair of shoes worn through at the heel. Agnes was offered a season on the pier at Skegness and Ivy a berth at a fairground in Hull, and the offers came on the same post, so neither of them could pretend they had not been made.

Keep reading

They agreed to take both. Hull was a long way from the sea, and the wind off the Humber took the breath from anyone who tried to walk a wire in it. Before the wagons split, they strung a length of cord between the two poles of their separate tents and tied a knot at each end, one for each of them to keep. Ivy said it was foolish. Agnes said foolish things were what kept a show alive, and she tied her knot twice for luck.

Through the winter they kept the rule. Every evening at dusk Ivy pulled the cord taut, and Agnes answered by tugging back from across the county. The stationmaster at Boston swore he could feel it hum through the telegraph poles when the frost was hard, and Ivy never believed him. She believed the cord. Some nights it sang and some nights it went slack, and on those nights she walked to the window and waited.

In March the pier burned, and Agnes came north on foot with the cord wound round her wrist. She found Ivy asleep in the wagon with her knot still tied, and she did not wake her. She sat on the step until morning, holding her end, so that when Ivy opened the door the line between them was already singing.