Chest tattoo of a red stitched heart with black script lettering, two cherries and small stars, placed across the centre of the chest.

Stitched heart with script and cherries on chest

Lettering · Chest · Mixed · Photo

A black outlined heart with stitch marks sits across the centre of the chest, with script lettering running over it and two cherries with small stars on either side. The linework is black and fine, and the heart is partly filled with loose red scribbled shading. The photo is framed close, with a striped shirt held open by two hands and a black bra visible below.

Lettering Chest Heart Stitches Script Cherry Star

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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

Every Thursday the 16:10 from Kendal leaves a little more on the platform than it takes away, and most of it ends up in my cupboard behind the ticket barrier at Thornholme Road. I have sorted umbrellas, dentures, a violin with no strings, and enough left gloves to start a small shop. Nobody comes back for the gloves. People come back for the things that have been mended, because they cannot bear to be without them.

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In March a red cardigan came in on its own, folded over the seat of carriage C with a note pinned to the collar that said only FOUND THIS, NOT MINE. The split under the left arm had been closed with black thread, tight running stitches, and over the tear someone had sewn a heart with a line of stitching round its edge, as though the hole had been a wound and the heart a plaster. Across it, in thread so fine I had to tilt the cardigan to the window to read it, were letters that began and ended in loops.

A woman rang on the Friday, sounding out of breath, and described the cardigan before I had said a word. She did not ask whether I had found it. She asked whether the stitches were still holding. I told her they were, and that the heart was in better condition than most of the hearts that come through my hands. She laughed, and then she was quiet for a long time, and then she said her mother had sewn it the winter before she moved into the home at Penrith, and that she had never once been able to make her own stitches look the same.

She came for it on the Saturday. When I handed it across the counter I found a single cherry-red thread caught in the cuff, one stitch longer than the rest, and I kept it. I still have it in the drawer with the spare keys.