Date a guy who writes.
Notice him around end session for his flummoxing nonexistence in the science class.
Forage through the last pages of his notebook when he is distracted, to discover what he had woven while u were convinced he is scribbling down notes on ETS.
Steal those pages without stealing his attention.
Let his verses consume you when you feed on them at midnight.
You’ll slowly realise never to search for him in the basketball court, for slamdunks and lay ups don’t appease his stamina.
Find him in the celibating vacuum of the library, while he sweats over a Murakami.
Check if his unkempt beard is trimmed even sporadically, or if his pants still bear ink marks which gives his idiosyncrasy an ornamental touch.
Ask him out for chai sometime.
Subconsciously rehearse the further conversation while he sips without the peculiar noise that lips normally make over the tea-cup.
Convey how submissive u find Naoko in Norwegian wood, ask if Midori’s blatancy seemed seductive to him.
Watch if he is comfortable with incendiary opinions.
If he is, show him the unappealing dragon tattoo on your waist you lament having got inscripted.
If he ain’t, hide that pile of beer cans under your bed when he visits you on Saturdays.
Make the allegory his life is, blend with the soliloquy yours has become.
Don’t feel ashamed to replace the bookmarks in his journal with premature rosebuds .
Nakedly blush when he finds your semi-sincerely attempted arrhythmic sonnets surprisingly soulful.
Gasp with gratefulness when you receive some raw poetry on valentine’s, so meticulously describing your lavender perfume that you can smell floral aroma vaporizing from the ink on the paper.
Experience your first kiss in an old bookstore, in the abandoned corner leaning against shelves cosseting dust loaded travel literature which are carelessly neglected by the readers (since bibliophiles have seen Derbyshire and Hertfordshire already).
Call him over to share sausages in rainy evenings and feel less deserted. Block the fireplace so the warmth of holding hands remain your only survival strategy.
Fill the void around with igniting laughter and damp soggy mumblings.
Take him to pubs and redefine jazz with his off tune mismatching footsteps. Yourself consume some Pinot Noir, but let him down glasses overflowing with brandy. Smirk as he spills,spits and pukes out his rather obnoxious than inarticulate love for you whilst inebriated.
One day when you feel lucky,Arrange a dinner and champagne sometime. Climb up the dias and sing a marriage proposal between the lyrics of his favourite song.
Make him feel the insane heights of attention only women get to feel while finding rings in wine glasses.
Wink when he says “I do” in the church.
Have kids named after writers, but dismiss when he proposes naming the elder one “Gogol”.
On anniversaries you will sit on the terrace and get intermittently amused when he would mention how he noticed when you tied your loose hair into a bun,instead of the manicure you emphasised his attention on.
When you lose a beloved one, he won’t belittle the pain with platitudes. He will understand you feel as alone as a infant who would crawl behind a will-o-wisp only to lose it between fireflies.
A writer knows more through contemplations than experience.
A writer can spell out the gap between speculative poetry and narrative non-fiction.
He will reject obvious fallacies; like the ubiquitously chanted notions that a scruffy curtain of wrinkles can muffle youth.
Or occasional bursts of temperament reveals the most honest conscience.
He will love you when you grow old.
He will love you during your worst fights.
He would always mention how Vladimir Nabokov thought that the past was revoked by associated smell.
But after his funeral you would realise how music revokes as much.
Conflating bibliophilism with emotional maturity may or may not be puerile.
But prosaically comprehending essentially requires some opening veins and listening to pulse.
You might date a man who merely reads and live a remarkable life.
But trust me,dating a man who writes remains unmatched.