Two people hold hands, each with a black script lettering tattoo on the inner wrist, partly cropped to read i love him and i love her.

Matching script wrist tattoos on clasped hands

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two people hold hands, showing matching black script tattoos on the inner wrists, partly cropped so the words read as i love him and i love her. The lettering is clean and dark with a fine, even stroke, and the skin tones and dark suit sleeves are plain and muted. The close, cropped composition centres the wrists and clasped hands, with a ring visible on one hand.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every Saturday the dance hall at Lower Ashby filled with fiddles, and every Saturday old Mother Gale stood by the door with a dish of spring water and a stub of soot. She said the floor would take no dancer who had not sworn to something true, so she wrote the swearing on their wrists before they stepped on. Most people laughed. The ones who scrubbed too hard found the words had sunk into the skin like weak tea.

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One June, Hal Brannock came in with his cousin's muddy boots and asked for the words. He owed money in Chesterfield and a farmer's widow was waiting on him to finish a roof. Ruth Peverell, who ran the mangle at the back of the laundry, came for her turn too. Gale wrote in her neat hand, one line each, then looked at the pair of them for a long while. Hal's read i love her and Ruth's read i love him, though neither had said a word to the other in a year.

They danced the reel without speaking. Osric, the deaf fiddler, played faster than he ever had, and when the bell rang for the last set neither of them let go. The soot held. Gale wiped the water from their wrists and the lines stayed black and sharp as a pen, and the boards under their feet creaked once and then went quiet.

Mother Gale kept the dish for thirty more years. Nobody in Lower Ashby ever asked whether the words had been true before the dancing, because the answer was on their wrists, and the two of them went on holding hands at the door of the hall long after the fiddles were packed away.

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