Black script lettering reading Everyday for the rest of our lives, split across two wrists that are pressed together, a Lettering design on the forearm.

Script quote split across two wrists

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two wrists are pressed together, and the black script text runs across both, reading Everyday for the... rest of our lives. The linework is solid and even, with no shading, and the lettering is set against pale skin and a dark floral fabric. The image is a single-colour photograph with a close, slightly soft focus.

Lettering Forearm Script Quote Text Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find Dani Okafor-Reid by the tombola table in the sports hall at Ashcombe Comprehensive, exactly where you hid from Mr Pryce in Year Nine, and she is clutching a paper cup of warm prosecco as if someone might take it off her. Twenty-two years have gone by since the last bell. Her hair is cropped now, and her lanyard still says HELLO MY NAME IS in faded capitals with nothing written beneath. "Nobody remembers me," she says. "Good. Then you can tell me the story properly."

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So you tell her about the Tuesday on the 17 bus when you were both fourteen and shared one biro. You pressed your wrists together under the window so the ink would run across both of you, and she wrote the words in her wobbly italic while the bus rattled past the Co-op. You had argued about the dots. She said they were a pause, a breath before the forever bit. You said they were a cheat. The bus braked hard outside the bakery, the line smeared, and your mum noticed at tea and made you scrub until your skin went raw.

Now Dani turns her wrists up under the strip lights, and there it is, faint and softened at the edges, the words running from her left arm onto your right. Not the biro version. Someone inked it properly in a flat above a kebab shop, she says, and it hurt more than she expected, though she has nothing to compare it to except a broken toe.

You ask whether the dots are still a pause. She says they are the best part. You say the line out loud for the first time since the bus, and she finishes it for you, the way she always used to, while the caretaker starts flicking the lights off one row at a time.