special occasions: sheaffer imperial iv fountain pen
The moon is high and bright. So bright that you can sit next to the window under a pool of moonlight. The street below is quiet although you can hear the loud music a few streets away. You wish the streetlights were a little dimmer so you could see more of the stars. There are still some visible, not many. It’s a beautiful night, you can feel the warmer days coming. The summertime would be nicer right now, if it was warm enough outside, you could’ve sat on the balcony and enjoy the moonlight on your skin.
nothing to say: twsbi diamond 580alr fountain pen
The clouds drift in the sky, obscuring the sun for a moment. Then that moment passes, and the sun warms your skin again. It’s a cold day, the type of day that necessitates a thick coat in the shade; but when the sun comes out, it’s too warm for it. You sit on the floor, in front of the large windows to soak up all the sun you can. Another cloud races over, obscuring the sun for a moment, its edges lit up, lining them in silver. It passes. A dust particle floats in the air, sparkling under the sun.
take me out tonight: pelikan m205 petrol fountain pen
It is a cool, quiet night. The sounds of the day are far away, you can vaguely hear the cars rushing past in the highway, far away. The window is open, and in the distance you can see the tower of a church and roofs shining in the streetlights. You try to get your keys, your wallet, your phone. Don’t forget to wear shoes and take a coat.
it’s a new day: esterbrook estie nouveau blue fountain pen
The carpet on the floor muffles your steps as you climb the stairs. Happy chatter comes from above you, accompanied by sounds of cutlery clanking. There’s a faint smell of fresh cooking. You climb another floor. The windows let in a faint light, a thin layer of clouds curtaining the sun. Your shadow falls step behind you, taking the steps one at a time as well. You climb another floor. The sounds of people chatting gets fainter and fainter behind you. When you reach the door, there is no bell, no knocker. You pause for a moment. Then, slowly tap your knuckles against the aged wood.
where the day meets the night: gioia alleria crepuscolo fountain pen
It is a cloudy afternoon, silvery sky a certain promise of rain after dark. The window is cracked open, letting in the smell of a storm brewing. Inside is warm, but the breeze has a bite to it, seeping into your bones. The kettle whistles, boiling water for the fragrant tea in the pot. A group of children pass under the window, chatting and laughing. While we wait for the water to boil, I start my story.