Dear Traveler,
If you've found this pen, it means the world hasn't yet forgotten how to feel.
They say I live at the bottom of the sea.
That I hide in shipwrecks. That I change color to stay safe.
All true.
But what they don't say is this:
I write letters.
Thousands of them.
On shells. On kelp. Sometimes in the sand.
Letters to lost lovers. To coral cathedrals. To stars above the surface I'll never touch. Each letter... dissolves. But I write them anyway.
Because that's what impossibly creative creatures do.
We make. Even if no one sees.
We express. Even if it fades.
We risk. Even when the tide takes everything.
This pen, the one in your hand, was made with this same quiet daring.
It is called Tino-after its creator, Tino Valentinitsch, who believes a pen should feel like a compass and a violin and a feather and a secret.
He believes a pen should invite you.
Not command you.
Should feel as good to hold as it does to leave behind.
Like a shell gifted to someone you love.
Here's what I ask of you, dear human:
- Write the letter you've been too afraid to send.
- Draw the dream that visits you only at night.
- Begin the book you swore you'd start when you "had time."
- Sign your name. Full name. Like you mean it.
And know this:
Somewhere, beneath the waves, I'm writing too.
Yours from the depths,
The Octopus
P.S. This pen was tested under starlight and pressure. It passed both.
P.P.S. Why me? Something about ink, eight arms, and being
"impossibly creative." Kolo never explained. I didn't ask.
