I’m not sure why you’re here. It’s just as well because I don’t think I even want to know. It’s like one of those mysteries that fall flat upon being solved. Perhaps the magic lies in this whole experience, which is definitely unlike any other. If I had to find the answers to all the questions inside my head, they probably wouldn’t make as much sense upon discovery. It’s like the way I listen to a particular song over and over until it becomes an extension of me. Or the way the music takes over the rhythm in my body and then I can no longer tell where the song ends and I begin. I never question why because I believe in the chemistry or rather the subtle alchemy at work – where the things you don’t understand are the very ones that end up transforming you.

I don’t know why I’m here either. How did I even make it to this exact space in time with you? How did I find myself suddenly held captive by something and someone so far removed from my own imagination? That’s the thing with one’s imagination – it’s always so limiting. For every little figment that makes it through, there are a million more that you can never get to. How do you know that the thoughts you express are the only good ones you have, or good enough to be presented to the rest of the world? What about the silent seeds that never seem to sprout but continue to thrive in the still dampness?

You’re like one of those brilliant ideas that I never knew I had. Like the Eureka moment I thought had eluded me in this lifetime. And yet you’re here, burning me with the glare of your presence and reducing me to nothing. I’m not sure now whether every step I take is a retreat further away from myself or you. And again, I don’t even want to know. I have no desire to uncover all these secrets because that would mean reaching the end. That would mean being left with just the ashes after the last embers have died out. That would mean standing at the shore after the last wave has receded.

If this turns out to be the last thing I’ve written to you, for you, for us, would it leave you satisfied? Or would you always wish that I had said more? What if I told you that this is all there is, and that I’m like that vessel that both replenishes and empties itself every day? Or every single moment of the day? I’m everything that has ever happened to us thus far and as night falls, I will once again be reduced to emptiness. You fill me up with all the things you say and don’t say – every single day. I am nothing and I am yours.