Close crop of a woman's arm resting across her chest, with a small solid red heart tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Small red heart on the inner wrist

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A small, solid red heart sits on the inner forearm close to the wrist. The woman's lower face, lips and chin are visible, and her hand rests against her other arm, with a black scarf and grey top below. The heart is a simple filled shape in a single red ink, shown against warm, slightly dark lighting.

Forearm Heart

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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

Dorrie keeps the stamp pad under the cash tin at the Pavilion door, and she always marks the inside of your wrist rather than the back of your hand, because she says the back shows on the bus home to your mum. The ink is cheap red stuff that smells faintly of pennies. Tonight the band from Leeds plays every tune half a tempo slower than the record, and you have no plans to dance with anyone until Fenner from the chip shop crosses the sprung floor in his borrowed shoes and stands there looking at the ceiling as if he has lost a bet.

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He asks you anyway. You take his hand and feel the stamp drag against the cuff of his jacket, leaving a faint red mark on the grey wool that you both pretend not to notice. The saxophone goes up and comes down. Someone's coat falls off the rail by the fire exit, and nobody picks it up. Fenner counts under his breath, wrong, and you let him, because the wrong count is the only thing about him that makes you laugh all night.

At closing time the lights come up flat and grey, and the hall smells of spilt shandy and wet wool. Dorrie takes your wrist to check the mark is still legible, the way she checks every hand that goes out into the November dark. Her thumb is cold and steady. You walk home with your sleeve pushed up, feeling the small square of warmth where the ink sits. By Thursday the edges have blurred to pink, and you find yourself keeping the wrist turned inward whenever anybody passes you the salt.