I have given too much thought as to what I ought to say in reply to your mystifying letter. I had a conflict of desire; do I follow my usual dismissive self, too bound to the realistic, and accuse you of already knowing me and of being one of the very few persons whom I entrusted at some point in my life with the most personal details, or do I relax my chances and make space for new, however incredulous, encounter.
You see, should I opt for the earlier, I would be at peace with myself. But, I don’t think anyone in the world has an idea about how much the latter is craved, in spite of how risky it is. The first time I read your message I was infuriated. I’m not sure how you will be taking this, but the dream you described is actually very similar, too similar, to a dream I had ten years ago. It’s a very special experience of mine, and I had conveyed this to someone I’m not in touch with anymore, and I had whimsically believed they were trying to reach me again, a thing that is only synonymous with pain. My anger was further induced by your keeping of your real name, but then, something calmed me down: there are some details in your description that are part inaccurate and are part unknown by the parties.
The guest room was not directly connected to our living, but rather through a prolonged corridor that has an entrance in its side into living, and at its end the guest room’s door. The secret detail you mentioned was the fact that the paper was folded. I never really told anyone that the paper was folded. Additionally, your translation of the text has conserved some meaning that I myself had not taken note of before, specifically when you chose the word ‘endowed’. That said, well, oh my God. Now my heart is pounding so hard too.
It’s such a sweet segue, that of fury into relief. Sometimes, I’m just, just, on others the harsh I am on myself, you know. So, I apologize to you, in case the beginning of my reply had by any means stressed you.
What I feel now is sheer curiosity about you and your whereabouts. There’s this speck of doubt tying me to the off chance that you might already know me, but either way, please do spill all out. Who are you? What made you send your letter? (well, other than the fact you share a ten years old dream of mine).
And, most importantly, what is your name, ‘N.’?