John gave me a pencil for my 50th birthday. People look at me strangely when I tell them. It's a fancy mechanical pencil, the same style he uses for his work as a mathematician. He gave it to me, so I could write poetry in the museums in Paris. This means he knows I want to write poetry in the museums. This means he's willing to wait around while I write poetry. This means he gets me, he supports me, he loves me.