A sudden impulse propelled me to write now. Nothing planned, just a shortsighted vision that entranced me when I awoke; I could not escape its enticing features yet despair that it is grounded in no truthful basis whatsoever. I am one to dream often, which is of course, a ridiculous understatement. Dreams, rather, follow me through my every waking moment, and affect me in away that can be ultimately characterized in one word, restlessness. A vicious cycle of the most intense happiness is most certainly followed by the most profound despair in me. This transitive monster that resides most close to my heart, which always aims to the most high and is never satisfied with anything but, fills me with many intense desires. Yet in time, a recurrence of certain passions inevitably reveals itself, and in time, my desire points to a most precious, tempting, and even, perhaps most importantly, impossible jewel.
Perhaps my greatest fear in writing this, is that you will see it as no more than the writing of a mere fool. Indeed, it strikes me as unsure if you have ever considered me anything more than a fool, but I do not come here to disprove such a thought. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps I truly am nothing more than a fool. I was not born a fool though, rather, I use it, need it, as a mask. Foolery as a mask: for me, there has possibly not existed a more important thing.
You as well, are a mask-wearer. It does not take much of a discerning eye to see this through this thin, ugly veil you put on, and to peer into the vast beauties that you keep to yourself. Perhaps this veil of sense is not even meant as a mask for others, perhaps you only wear it as a way to convince yourself. Perhaps, and tragically so, you sometimes even forget that you have it on. I do not mean for my words to cause you any discomfort, I know that delving into such matters is rather distasteful; I just hope to show that although our masks are of opposite nature, that we are both more than mere masks.
My curious spirit beckons the question, are you impossible? To most, you are certainly out of reach. With, the most delicate, slender features, you hold yourself in the most distinguished aloofness, but in a manner of delicacy that no trained eye would confuse with austerity. It is maybe, your virtuoso magnifico to entice, for with no effort on your part, you strike a desire of the highest sorts, one that a common type cannot even comprehend how to approach. Indeed, it is no small task to even deserve your acknowledgement. Beneath these perplexities, the question must be asked, is there a riddle to be solved? Is there any hope in the dreams of this covetous dreamer? But certainly my hopes are characteristically out of place.
I do not much expect to receive an answer to my questions, much less anything much positive, but my spirit has learnt not to be discouraged by rejection. Rather, I have been hardened by it, maybe even addicted to it in some way. Even now, I still come seeking the highest and most precious. Am I living dangerously or stupidly? You tell me.
I have committed an act of bad taste simply by writing this to you. Although you dislike ambiguity, I would not commit an act of even higher distaste by leaving my name on such a writing. Fool or not, I have written what I felt compelled to write. Do I hold a possible solution, or is all my dreaming simply in vain?