Fine line black script reading We only part to meet again across the ribs, with a small bird design above it on the right.

Script quote and small bird on ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a black script quote, We only part to meet again, running diagonally across the side of the ribs. A small bird, drawn in simple outline and shading, sits above the end of the text at the upper right. The ink is black with fine, even linework on smooth skin, set against a blue wall and a dark top at the edge of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Script Quote Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dora Fenwick had the last train out of Kettering Road on her mind, and not much else, when Frank came up the platform with his cap in one hand and a paper bag of pear drops in the other. He had been posted to the Chesterfield office for six weeks, long enough to learn that the signal keeper's wife made the best tea in the county, and short enough that nobody had yet asked him to stay.

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"They've given me the Leeds run," he said. "Starting Monday."

She pretended to study the timetable under its scratched glass. Swallows had started skimming the tracks beneath the canopy, which her mother swore meant rain by morning, though Dora had stopped trusting her mother's weather years ago. What she had not stopped trusting was the sentence Frank had copied onto the flyleaf of the library book he'd lent her: We only part to meet again. He wrote it in the neat, sloping hand of a man who meant to keep his word.

Frank offered her a pear drop. She took it and held it in her cheek so she wouldn't have to answer. Down the line a whistle sounded, thin and far off, and the signal arm dropped with a clank that rattled the bench. She thought of Leeds, a city of soot and strangers. She thought of the sentence, which had seemed so brave when he wrote it and now seemed like a door he was holding open for her to walk through or not.

The train came in with its brakes squealing. Frank lifted her case without asking, the way he always had, and she let him carry it as far as the step. Then she took the flyleaf from her coat pocket, folded it twice, and pressed it into his palm. "Meet me at Leeds," she said, "and bring the book back." Above the carriage roof a swallow dipped and climbed, and Dora did not look up to see whether it would rain.