Black fine line script tattoo reading pain is inevitable suffering is optional on a bare calf above black strappy heels.

Script quote on a calf above black heels

Lettering · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

A bare lower leg rests on a textured white rug, wearing black strappy suede heels. A thin black script tattoo on the shin reads pain is inevitable suffering is optional, with a smaller script tattoo partly visible lower down the leg. The linework is fine and the ink is solid black, with the warm skin tones and white rug giving the composition a soft, minimal feel.

Lettering Fine line Calf Script Quote Text High heel Leg

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

Ida Parrish had kept the Corn Exchange dance hall in Pickering for thirty-one years, and she knew every board that creaked. On the Saturday before Lady Day, a girl came in wearing new black suede heels, laced to the ankle with the ties crossed twice and knotted at the back, and asked whether a person could dance the whole night without stopping.

Keep reading

Ida said the floor did not care what a person could do. Pain came up through the boards whether you asked it or not. The fiddler, Samuel Crane, who had played there since he was a boy with a borrowed bow, leaned on his chair and said pain was only a string pulled tight, the way it must be pulled to sing. Suffering, he said, was the bit you added yourself, when you stood in the corner of the room and counted the minutes out loud. The girl laughed and went back to the floor. Samuel played reels until the lamps guttered, and at midnight the ache came up sharp as a nail through the sole.

She wanted to stop. Instead she tried Samuel's way, hearing the tune and not the tally, letting the ache be a hot, plain thing like the stove in the corner. By four o'clock she sat on the bench, unlaced the heels one loop at a time, and found that her feet still hurt. It was only a hurt now, not a story she was telling herself about it.

Ida swept the boards at dawn. By the stove she found the black heels set side by side, the laces still knotted, the suede dusted pale from the floor where they had kept time all night.