Small solid black semicolon tattoo with a heart as its dot, placed on the inner wrist in a close-up photo.

Semicolon with heart dot on inner wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a semicolon whose upper dot is replaced by a solid black heart, placed on the inner wrist. The design is filled with flat black ink with crisp edges and no visible shading or fine detail. The skin is pale and the background is softly out of focus, with the image showing only the wrist and base of the hand.

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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 last edition of the night always smelt of hot toner and cold tea, and I was on my third cup when the page proofs slid under the subs desk with an error nobody had asked me to find. Halfway down a column about a bus depot closing, someone had set a semicolon with a solid black heart where its top dot should be. The layout sub had initialled the page. Nobody had queried it. Nobody, it seemed, had even looked.

Keep reading

I rang Dev down in the press room. "Font fault," he said, not lifting his eyes from the plate he was wiping. "Someone's been playing with the dingbats again." I told him a semicolon was a promise to keep reading, a pause that refuses to become a full stop, and that a heart did not belong in a story about timetables. He said that was the longest speech I had made since the Christmas party, and asked if I wanted it gone before the four o'clock run. I said no. I wanted to see whether anybody in Leeds would notice on a Tuesday.

So at quarter to four I sat on the loading bay steps with a flask and watched the first 42 pull out of the depot, its headlights fanning across the wet road. The driver, a man I knew only as Gary from the ticket booth, had a paper folded open to that very column. He held it up against the windscreen and tapped the page twice with one finger, the way you knock on a friend's door to say you are still awake.

I went back inside, found my pencil, and wrote in the margin: leave it. Then I went home and slept until the buses started again, which is the only ending I have ever trusted.

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