I am in love with a writer. Just like my favourite waiter, I love his service. Like a silly girl am nervous and I don’t know if its right that I fell for a shy man. See, his captive style of writing is sly but it’s what draws me to him. I am attracted to his ability of expression that not even any distraction can come in between me and his story. He is sorry that he forgot my birthday and so he got me a red rose. Like good food is the taste of his prose, I would be a fool not to cut to the chase.
I am in love with a writer. Just like my favourite fighter he kicks ass. Never in need to show his muscles but instead quick to heed his calling to show me his tassle of talent. He once wrote a story about a certain cooking ingredient that sets emotions blazing, he went on that one must learn to be resilient in the kitchen, i later found out that it was one of his LOVE pieces, convenient yet radiant.
I am in love with a writer. Just like my favourite all-nighter, i clutch his book close to my chest at night. At brunch am still nibbling at his use of words, like a baby on the mothers breasts am totally hooked. My date mistook me for a snob but he never took the time to understand what i wanted. It was to be rid of the haunted misconception about writers, that they are a load of introverts. Like an advert that’s just a mere perception.
I am in love with a writer because he is the inception of ideas…