Black typewriter-style lettering on an inner forearm reads Every song ends, but is that any reason not to enjoy the music, with a small red heart at the end.

Typewriter quote on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A close photograph of a quotation tattooed across the inner forearm in black, typewriter-style lettering set on slight diagonal lines. A small red heart sits after the final word, the only colour in the design. The skin is lit evenly against a wooden floor and a person's legs and pink trainers are visible at the edge of the frame, but no face is shown.

Lettering Forearm Quote Text Heart Music

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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 wasps had found the windfalls before you did, so you stood in the long grass of your uncle's allotment with a bin bag in one hand and the shed key in the other, not yet sure which one you were meant to use. The shed smelled of creosote and damp paper. Under a tarpaulin, where the mower should have been, sat a grey portable typewriter with its cover still on.

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You carried it out into the sun and blew the dust off the keys. Taped inside the lid was a strip of card in his square capitals: EVERY SONG ENDS, BUT IS THAT ANY REASON NOT TO ENJOY THE MUSIC. Beneath it he had drawn a small red heart in felt-tip. You remembered the Saturday in 1986 when he drove you to the coast with the radio up loud, the tape chewed at the end, and he'd said that when the album finished the needle could lift, but he'd keep humming anyway.

You fed a sheet of carbon paper into the machine and typed the line out again, one key at a time, the bell ringing at the end of each row. Your fingers were clumsy. The e stuck halfway down and you had to ease it free with a fingernail, swearing softly at the neighbour's hedge and the gulls over the reservoir.

When you pulled the page free, you reached for a biro to draw a heart beside it, then thought better of it and dotted a red pen mark after the last word instead. You propped the typewriter on the potting bench facing the sun and left the shed door open for the wasps.