Here is a little something, a 'vignette' as I like to call pieces of this nature, that I wrote a couple of days ago. It was the first time writing in a beautiful brand new notebook I was given for my birthday. With symmetrical, gilt, curling motifs and a leather red spine like the oldest of classics, it inspired in me this first writing.
When I was given this book on the 11th of February at my birthday party, I was so excited to write in it that my life flashed before my eyes in a phantasmagoria of all the pens I'd ever owned. It's such a beautiful book that to write in it with just any pen would be unfair, unkind... disrespectful. It deserves a fountain pen, a feather quill - the sort of pen that has its own art. I want to write every letter like it's a privilege, a joy. But instead, I'm writing with a blue, fluffy ballpoint. As I consider my next words, I dust off my chin with its powder-puff end and smile. If the pen is mightier than the sword, I've brought a feather duster to a knife fight. But this blue, fluffy pen is my favourite, and artistic and elegant or not, this book will have to learn to enjoy the simple femininity of a feather duster.