Dear Author,
Good day, Sir! I would just like to let you on in a secret... At this point of my existence, I know that you are aware that I am already tired of thinking why did an overqualified and award-winning writer like you have chosen me as a tool for creating his masterpiece. When in fact, I am definitely no extraordinary pen. I actually don't function well, especially when the weather is cold, for my ink is somewhat drying up due to the coldness I feel inside. Nevertheless, I have come to realize that I must prevent such questions to clutter in my head, for I must be more than grateful for you held me in your hand and trasformed me from uselessness to usefulness. Extending my gratitude is an understatement for me to let you know how thankful I am to you.
I have lots of shortcomings: one would be my dependence on my own ink, thinking that it will never ran out; second would be, being consistently inconsistent in pouring out my ink to things that are unworthy of it; third would mean boastfulness, for the times that I think that I write letters alone forgetting that it is only by your hand holding me that I am able to do something.
Thank you Sir for not letting go of me... If there's one thing I'll ask from you, I think it will be the request to use me more to fill so many pages of another's notebook to inspire them that apart from you, the pen they see can do nothing. And that apart from you it can never write something... You always leave me awestrucked and dumbfounded at how you are able to use so many pens simultaneously, but that I will not question. For it was already given that you are inenarrable and that you are able to do things far more that what pens can imagine or even think of. For that I give you all my ink... and will praise you even up to the last drop of ink I could shed.
I have lots of shortcomings: one would be my dependence on my own ink, thinking that it will never ran out; second would be, being consistently inconsistent in pouring out my ink to things that are unworthy of it; third would mean boastfulness, for the times that I think that I write letters alone forgetting that it is only by your hand holding me that I am able to do something.
Thank you Sir for not letting go of me... If there's one thing I'll ask from you, I think it will be the request to use me more to fill so many pages of another's notebook to inspire them that apart from you, the pen they see can do nothing. And that apart from you it can never write something... You always leave me awestrucked and dumbfounded at how you are able to use so many pens simultaneously, but that I will not question. For it was already given that you are inenarrable and that you are able to do things far more that what pens can imagine or even think of. For that I give you all my ink... and will praise you even up to the last drop of ink I could shed.
Loving you lots,
Your chosen Pen