Find a pretty notebook of handmade paper.
It could be a bright blue, the colour of peacocks. It could be green and gold and majestic with tassels. Some tie across the front with a little ribbon, some button up neatly at the side, the hard cover falling perfectly into place. Smell the pages. They smell delicious; the smell of paper and glue and writing. The hand made paper is coarse and warm. It reminds you of scrolls and missives and other old world things that you wish still existed.
Fill your pen with ink; a deep royal blue or a dark shade of green. Watch the drops fall out of the pipette into the body of your pen. Wash the ink stains of your hands, the basin water turning blue.
Open your box of erasers, stiff and tan coloured, soft and pastel. Ink erasers never work too well, pens are for the more careful section of the people, those who know what to say and will not go back on what they’ve said.
Rub the lead off your hands, after you finish sharpening your 2B pencil. Touch the sharp pencil point gingerly. Throw away the pencil shavings, tapping the sharpener against the side of the bin to get the last of the waste out.
Lay everything on a glass top table; the pretty notebook, the pencil and erasers and the smooth ink pen.
It is now that you realize that, like how you worry that your writing will never be as sincere as you mean it be, there is nothing beautiful enough to be written in pretty notebook.
You lock it away in your desk and look at it from time to time. You wait for the day when your earnest thoughts are worthy of being carved on this delectable paper.
It could be a bright blue, the colour of peacocks. It could be green and gold and majestic with tassels. Some tie across the front with a little ribbon, some button up neatly at the side, the hard cover falling perfectly into place. Smell the pages. They smell delicious; the smell of paper and glue and writing. The hand made paper is coarse and warm. It reminds you of scrolls and missives and other old world things that you wish still existed.
Fill your pen with ink; a deep royal blue or a dark shade of green. Watch the drops fall out of the pipette into the body of your pen. Wash the ink stains of your hands, the basin water turning blue.
Open your box of erasers, stiff and tan coloured, soft and pastel. Ink erasers never work too well, pens are for the more careful section of the people, those who know what to say and will not go back on what they’ve said.
Rub the lead off your hands, after you finish sharpening your 2B pencil. Touch the sharp pencil point gingerly. Throw away the pencil shavings, tapping the sharpener against the side of the bin to get the last of the waste out.
Lay everything on a glass top table; the pretty notebook, the pencil and erasers and the smooth ink pen.
It is now that you realize that, like how you worry that your writing will never be as sincere as you mean it be, there is nothing beautiful enough to be written in pretty notebook.
You lock it away in your desk and look at it from time to time. You wait for the day when your earnest thoughts are worthy of being carved on this delectable paper.
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