The first letter of your name is in small. Why don’t you write it Ibhog? Also, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what does ibhog mean?
I’m not sure why I am writing to you, but let’s just agree that I won’t say I don’t know why. People who say that lie, you know, and I never lie. Too many vowels in that sentence, no?
I’m used to writing letters that I never send to people whom I know shall never know about them, and this letter was supposed to be one of those. However, something urged me to send it to you this morning. I didn’t spend much time revising it, for it has been in the process of being written for over a month now, and God knows what thoughts have changed in that relatively lengthy period of time, as far as my undecided mind is concerned.
So last night I had a very peculiar dream about you that I couldn’t stop myself from sharing. That is only part of the reason why this letter had fled the confines of my thick folds of reserve, but let’s visit that thought later. I rarely have dreams with such vividness as to live thus far in my crowded memory.
So I dreamed that you were asleep in a bed that strangely enough was located in the dining room in your house. It was dark but the room was luminous with moonlight coming from a wide window across from your bed side. You were wearing dark red clothes, a pajama, I reckon. The room didn’t have a usual door, but rather a large folding door with blurring glass in the large of both of its two wide parts. It extended after your bed ended, until the the other side of the room, facing the big dining table in front of a posh wooden neesh. If someone enters that room, the bed would be on their right, and the moonlight would be coming from the wall across from them, on the right also. The curtains were open, it must have been a full moon because the interior of the room was very clear to me, even though no lights were switched on anywhere.
In the dream, you woke up and headed towards the window. I believe you were watching the full moon. Your face was white because of all the light, and suddenly you were notably startled by something. So startled that you actually took a step back away from the window, all the while looking up to the sky. You then walked and opened the room’s folding door, ventured into living, and then went to the guest room, all connected together. It was your desk there, I guess. It had many books on it that I just knew where yours. You were quite shaken when you were opening one of the drawers. You took some paper out, it was folded with many pencil writings on it, like it was used for sketches or notes, you know.
And then on one side of it, I could see what was written. It was the only pencil writing I could recognize, and the moment you (and I) read it, your stress left you and your face shifted into sheer, yet anticipating comfort.
And ibhog, on that paper, this was written: “From us we shall endow you with forgiveness, and we shall give you_”, and then, after “give you”, there was a name written, it’s not an Arabic name, or maybe it wasn’t a name. I never knew the meaning of that word: “Ehaba” – “we shall give you Ehaba”. The wording was in Arabic, I just translated it here. I suck at Arabic, I’m not even sure I can confidently tell you that it’s my mother tongue. Anyway, I woke up after that.
Look, my heart is pounding so hard. I don’t mean to be dramatic, because I’m far from that. But, each time my memory crosses path with that dream, I’m led to telling you.
And now I’m at peace, I guess.
Write back to me, and don’t guess who I am, because you wouldn’t know.