… with a pen.
Just look at you – you are the stuff that dreams are made of! Svelte, classy, not easily intimidated…
You are photogenic from all angles. I’ve examined you in close-up and hereby pronounce you irresistible.
So what if I barely use fountain pens anymore? I do prefer their smoothness, but usually end up with inky fingers. I’m sure that you’ll never let me down like that. Once I am in your thrall, I might even consider abandoning my laptop for you.
Just imagine the masterpieces we could write together. The royalties and contracts we could sign, covered in smiles. The Nobel Prize acceptance speech we could produce five minutes before we have to give it. You would be my secret weapon, my talisman, my precious.
And maybe you could also be a reminder that if I don’t start behaving like a writer, I do not deserve to have friends like you in my life.
No, my sweet, our time has not yet come! But I promise you, when I publish my first book, whether it does well or not, whether anyone likes it or not, I shall find you and buy you and we shall live together in eternal bliss.
N.B. No pens, real or fictional, were harmed in the writing of this post. Nor have I been paid by a certain luxury producer of writing instruments to advertise their products. This love is genuine, incorruptible… and, much like my novel, forever postponed.