You are not my typewriter, but you could be my demon

If you're reading this, it doesn't concern you.

One day I am going to purchase a typewriter, an electric Smith-Corona from the early Fifties, and lock myself in my room with it. On sheets of thin yellowed paper, I will type out every word you've made me think of. Wouldn't that be a nice gift--a neat stack of papers tied tightly with thick tan twine, lines and lines of ...well, you I guess.

This year, I will write a book. Probably a book of short stories, but a book-sized amount nonetheless. Oh yes.

Ya ne znaiou.