Black fine line script quote in cursive lettering across the upper chest below the collarbone, on a shoulder in a dim room.

Script quote across the upper chest

Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A handwritten style script quote runs in a diagonal line across the upper chest, below the collarbone and towards the shoulder. The linework is thin and even, with the lettering rendered in black ink and no shading or fill. The photograph is taken at a slight angle with a soft vignette, and the tattoo is the clear focus against the skin.

Lettering Fine line Chest Script Quote Handwriting Text

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

You are still up the ladder in the Pennick orchard when the wasps find the windfalls, snipping the last Discovery off the bough by the wall, and Aunt Hester's voice comes up through the leaves to say the kettle's on and you have left the shears open on the grass again. You climb down with a bruised thumb and a bag of early Bramleys, and she takes the bag without looking at it, as if the apples were something she had already forgiven you for.

Keep reading

In the packing shed the air smells of paraffin and cold cardboard. She keeps her grafting ledger on the shelf above the sink, a green hardback with the spine taped twice, and she has been writing in it for longer than you have been alive. Lately the pages come back to her in the wrong order. Today she turns to a page near the back, where a pencilled line sits alone beneath a row of cultivar names, copied out in a careful hand that is not quite her own: they are the roses in December, you remember someone said that. God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

"Walter wrote it on the back of a seed invoice," she says, "the spring before he went to the sanatorium. I never could stop reading it." Her finger rests on the word memory, the way you would press a bruise to check it is still there.

You do not ask her what she remembers. You take the pencil from behind her ear and add a line under the Bramleys: grafted, rootstock M26, one tree for the south wall. Outside, the late sun slants down the rows toward the hedge, where by December there will be rosehips held up in the frost like small red lamps. She will not remember that you planted them, but the ledger will.