Two people seen from behind with matching black script tattoos on their shoulders, reading You Are My Sunshine and My Only Sunshine, each beside a small sun drawing.

Matching sunshine script tattoos on two shoulders

Lettering · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

Two people are photographed from behind, showing script lettering on each of their shoulders. The left reads 'You Are My Sunshine' and the right reads 'My Only Sunshine', each with a small linework sun beside the words. The tattoos are rendered in black ink with crisp, even lines against light skin, and the outdoor background is a grey tarmac surface with a faded painted symbol.

Lettering Fine line Shoulder Sun Sunshine Script Quote Matching tattoo Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The sign-writer came up Pennick's lane in the second week of August with a tin of black enamel, a brush no thicker than a hair, and a bad knee he kept rubbing with his free hand. He had been hired to letter the two new apple crates for the Bramley stall, and he asked Dora and me which of us the sunshine was for, because the old crates only said PENNICK and he reckoned a joke was owed.

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Dora laughed and said I was the grumpy one, so I'd need the sun that lasted. He painted slowly with his tongue between his teeth, copying a line from a scrap of card my mother had kept tucked in her recipe book, the one she used to sing over the plum jam. Each capital came out with a small hitch at the top, the way her hand used to shake when she was tired. Above the words he drew a little sun with rays like loose stitches, and Dora watched every stroke as if it might smudge before it set.

The crates stood by the gate that evening, drying in the low light, and I thought the work was done. Then the rain came on the Thursday, hard and sideways off the Malvern side, and by morning the black had run into the grain of the wood. The words softened at the edges and the little suns spread into smudges, like something seen through a wet window. Dora said it looked better that way, older, and I was too cross to argue.

We loaded the crates onto the lorry on Saturday before the market. The driver read them out loud, first mine, then hers, and asked which one was the real sunshine. Dora shrugged and said both of them were, and that the rain had only made it honest. I still have the card in the recipe book, folded soft at the corners, and I still can't tell you whose hand made the strokes that day.