Close-up of a fine line black script tattoo reading I've waited here for you everlong, placed across the upper back near the shoulder.

Script quote across the shoulder blade

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A thin black script quote runs horizontally across the upper back, close to the shoulder blade. The linework is delicate and even, with small loops and flowing joins between the letters. The skin is shown in soft, neutral light against a dark top, and the tattoo is the clear focus of the composition.

Fine line Lettering Shoulder Quote Script Word Handwriting

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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

Sit down, sit down, you'll not hear the rest with your coat still dripping on the rug. Mrs Penhallow kept the boarding house at the top of Gull Steps, the one with the green door that never shut true. Room seven faced the bay. Every evening at six she set two cups on the sill, one for herself and one for the man who had gone out in the Clara Jane the autumn before and never came back up the slipway.

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She wrote him letters and never posted one. She kept them in a biscuit tin under the stairs, forty-one by the spring, all in the same slanted hand. The last one said only that she had waited here for him, and the words ran off the bottom of the page because she had no room left for the rest. Everlong, she had written, as if the word were a street she could walk down to meet him.

Tobias Quarrie, a surveyor sent up from Penzance to measure the cliff for the council, took room seven that winter. One wet night he carried the tin upstairs and read every letter by candlelight. Folded inside the last one was a tide table, the page turned down at the day the Clara Jane went under, and beside it a pencilled line she had never finished. He sat with it until the candle guttered, then wrote the rest of the sentence in his own careful capitals and slid it under the green door.

In the morning he set a third cup on the sill beside hers. By dusk it was full of rain, and by the end of the week the tin under the stairs held one more letter, the first one ever addressed to someone who could answer.