Fine black cursive script reading one day at a time tattooed across the inner wrist, with light blue painted nails visible at the top of the frame.

Script quote tattoo on an inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photo shows a hand turned palm up, with the inner wrist in focus and a cursive phrase reading one day at a time running diagonally across it. The lettering is drawn in a thin, even black line with a fluid, handwritten look. The background is softly blurred in warm browns and greens, which keeps attention on the ink.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Phrase Lettering Wrist

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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

The relay from the transit hulk Patience came through on the forty-first morning of the dust season, and Oriel read it standing up, the way her mother had taught her to read bad news. Fourteen months of light-lag had taught them both to write small and say only what fitted the allowance. Her brother had kept it to three words: Still counting. Still here.

Keep reading

She had been counting too. On the wall of the lamp room at Port Merrow she kept a column of pencil marks, one for each sol since he left, and beside it stood the line their father had painted above the door before the ground stations went dark: one day at a time. Nobody on Merrow remembered who first wrote it in that looping hand, only that the words had outlasted the paint and been retraced by every keeper since.

She drafted her reply twice. The first was all news about the ice-yield and the pump that kept coughing. The second said only: Mark it for me. Then she climbed the ladder, found the fine brush in its tin, and traced the old letters again, slow and even, until the d in day stood fresh and black against the grey plaster.

The next morning the relay blinked before her tea had cooled. Her brother had sent a single image: the same phrase in pencil on the inside of his own cuff, the cloth already fraying where he had dragged it over the transit's cold clasp. Under it he had written one word. Tomorrow.