Might of my Feather Duster

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.