Here begins a tale of a love story, one of which occurs between a typewriter and I.
A love story which started as a child, obsessed with the Times New Roman font and its likeliness to that of a typewriters print. This was only developed with age, writing more and more and retaining the use of the font, and willing myself to finally buy a typewriter. But they’re a thing of lost beauty. Elusive is an easily applicable term, these lost beauties can be difficult to acquire. And as one has now been loosely introduced to my life, I find nothing more serene that to sit and hear the rather loud ‘clunk’ of the letters hitting the paper, the sliding to a new line, and the print that then lies above it.
It may not be as easy as tapping the keys of a laptop, or scrawling into a notepad, but neither of these things seem to requite my love of words as much as the typewriter. Even as I write this, I crave the touch of the typewriters keys, and the satisfaction as the letters fall back down from the page leaving the inked words where they hit. Inanimate as typewriter may be, words themselves to me are anything but inanimate, and the typewriters responsive print is just as in love with me as I am with it. So this is not the end of a love story, this is just the progression of a typewriter and I, and the words I’ll write on it promise this love story will continue.
This is indeed a love story, occurring between a typewriter and I.