Master,

I just spent one minute of my life watching a guy eat a banana with a knife and fork because, according to him and his expert advice on dining etiquette, we ought not pick it up with our hands like primates. So if I try to handle your banana with utensils, just know, I was trying to be a lady.

Since I could barely sleep last night and could not see you in my dreams, I settled on fantasising instead (about you today)—how and whether we might attract a desert sand cat, and, if we did, whether you would allow me to take it home with us. Despite their tiny size, they have a high kill rate. I think that’s just spectacular.

Speaking of wonders of the desert, I’d like to tell you about one of my favourite movies, Three Thousand Years of Longing, in which Dr Alithea Binnie uses one of her wishes granted by a jinn to set him free.

Dr Binnie is fascinated with history, and the jinn, being near-immortal, has many stories to share, including one from his own experience and perspective with the beautiful and legendary, Queen Sheba. In the modern world, however, the jinn is barely hanging on by a thread, for an ancient world of magic has no need for electricity and our modern world is constantly buzzing with it; it would feel to him like “unborn chicken in my head,” in the words of Radiohead. That, and the dizzying rate at which we live—time being inconsequential to him as near-immortal—would appear as unfolding at a rapid pace by comparison because we operate under the pressure of a ticking clock. As a result, freedom and existing freely take on a new meaning. Despite that, he endures it all without complaint because he wants to please her, as is in his nature—I think his self-sacrificing nature is, at least, part of the reason she falls for him.

When she finds him huddled in a cellar disintegrating into ash, she uses one of her wishes to liberate him from the bottle forever, knowing that he will return to his world of jinns as he must. They are contented with a reunion once every few years.

I like to think that is what love is or should be—a form of self-sacrifice. Being able to put another person’s well-being before your own, is the sort of thing only love can make a person do—a fundamental love that exists as the polar opposite to today’s increasingly self-serving one.

That’s it. That’s the moral of the story. I could write more, but sleep is coming to claim me just in time so I could spoon you—not like a banana, but figuratively speaking. First, I need you to know that the first desert sand cat to introduce itself to us should be named Alithea.

There’s an ongoing debate on Threads about first dates, dividing people essentially into two camps—wine and dine vs. simple or practical experiences. By practical, I mean they were discussing how appropriate it would be for IKEA to serve as a first-date venue. If I have to make an argument for it, I’d say that it’s a plus that one can discern the other’s taste in furniture at the same time. After all, what sort of furniture is allowed into one’s dwelling can be a contentious subject, particularly in shared homes where values and preferences could clash. Not that I want to visit IKEA anytime soon. If I needed anything, I’d simply order it online.

As I observed it, people talk past each other as though oblivious to the fact that it is everyone’s goal to have a good time which, of course, means different things to different people. The point of a date being to get to know one another or establishing a bond isn’t in dispute; what’s at issue is where that should take place. And that’s as personal as choosing a life partner.

Some people like the experience that only expensive restaurants and other upscale venues can provide—they enjoy dressing up, anticipating a night of elegance by candlelight and a string quartet, cocktails with hors d’œuvre, a marriage of new flavours presented artfully on a plate. Seduction is as much an art as it is a performance; the mise en scène would make or break the concert.

Others prefer a casual environment where they’d feel more at ease to dress simply, where they wouldn’t feel self-conscious or out of place, one that is light on the wallet and consistent with their preference for a simple and stress-free life. They’d get lost in conversations and in each other that it really didn’t matter where they were.

Since I’d only ever order a steak and perhaps ravioli—no dessert—fine dining is wasted on me.

My favourite place in the world is the contemporary art museum—where I could dress up or down if I wanted to; nobody would be out of place, whatever (non-) creative mood they’re in. That freedom to choose to be as we are or how we want to be, is invaluable. There would be no shortage of conversation either. It’s easy to weave contemporary issues or science into art, so if I really wanted to test how a person thinks, his values and position on matters important to me, this would be the place.

His is the stadium. Though I’d probably not understand the match, I like being part of the excitement and electricity, rooting for the underdog—unless his favourite team is playing, in which case I’d cheer along with him, then cheer him up afterwards if he needed it.

Outside of matches and museum opening hours, we could go to a library or a bookshop, because we both love books—reading passages to each other, sharing our thoughts or favourite quotes. Later, we’d grab a sandwich along the way, to eat on the go—in a park, on a bench outside, by the river; it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, we’d both come out happy—except if France loses a match, then I’ll be quite inconsolable. Then he’d have to be the one cheering me up—that wouldn’t be so bad. France had better win the next World Cup. Allez les Bleus!

Last night’s dream was rather silly. I was helping a couple with a problem—I forget what exactly. The woman was determined to get it solved; she was almost on the verge of tears, while the man only appeared to want help. He accepted our suggestions, tagging along as we moved from one place to the next. But as the night wore on and I introduced him to more people who could help him work out the kinks, he appeared increasingly nervous. He didn’t say anything, just played along, nodding appreciatively, offering scant information.

It ended with him making a mad dash quite suddenly, leaving all of us perplexed and in the dust. I said to a policeman, “I could give chase, but what would I do when I caught him?” We both sort of shrugged. He obviously had something worth hiding, or some innocent thing he wanted to keep private as was his prerogative. Nobody wanted to find out what that was, so that was the end of it. That he stuck it out for so long was the most commendable bit. I believe he endured it all just to make his lady happy.

Today’s synchronicity happened within seconds of each other, involving Elizabeth Arden’s 24-hour lip cream and a bunch of grapes. One appeared as the very first ad after I tapped the screen awake and opened an app. I had only just seconds ago thought about putting Elizabeth Arden’s 8 hour cream on my lips—it works on all dry places including lips and it’s the only one I had. I had put it off until after I’ve had my tea. Seeing the ad prompted me to search for the cream, which happened to be next to a bunch of red grapes on the vanity. As my hand moved towards the tube, the audiobook played: “Standing beneath the tall, moss-draped oak, Joey glanced around and only saw thick foliage and wild grape vines along the bayou.”

I love it when my thoughts, actions, and environment align. It makes me feel like I’m exactly where I am, doing this, thinking or listening to that, by celestial order. It feels like today is going to be a special day, and I’m already excited for it to unfold. Double synchronicity makes it all the more remarkable.

The tiger checks behind him once more to ensure that no one is following him.

“I must go,” he says resignedly, “I am dealing with a lot.”

With his two front paws, he sets an immense ball rolling down a gentle slope, clearing the path in front for him. It rolls to a stop underneath a cluster of bamboo with a thud. A flurry of leaves falls to the ground, along with a stupefied squirrel.

The tiger lets out a deep sigh. He has only just feasted with his mate and will not now expend energy on a critter. He resolves instead to take the ball with him, as nobody else ought to play with it while he is away.

Smoothing his ruff, he says, “I’ve peed around the perimeter, so you will be safe from marauding males. I’ll return with more before an unspecified time.”

“Indeed, that was most helpful—the marking, and the indeterminate time period, particularly if one were a stone.”

He nods a thumbs-up following a quick look around. Satisfied with his security measures, he starts down the grove and disappears under the starless sky. His coat the perfect camouflage, only the crush of leaves marks his path.

It could not have been a dream. It would have been cold without the warmth of a body; mine having drained of energy employed to actuate daytime fantasies. I’m rocking against you in a musical cadence, rising and blooming, screaming into your chest, nails digging into flesh, responding and euphoric. I did not dream last night except to gaze upon your face, nestled within your arms, in a sinuous embrace.

It is the quiet before an exhalation, of something about to happen, when you will emerge more than with just luminous amber eyes, watching and keeping me safe (or keeping away other males)—same difference.

This is a world in which we are together, beneath the night sky of celestial sapphire. Take heart in dreams and symbols, for promises of the divine never fail to deliver.

In the dream world, I returned home wearing someone else’s uniform and shoes. They had exchanged clothes with me so they could ride their bikes more comfortably to somewhere important. It was a pair of platform clogs—though at least they were made of leather. I shuffled towards the train station feeling like a fraud in the habit of a copper, though I held myself with enough grace and composure to make a convincing act of someone with authority. No one need ever know.

In the next dream scene, there was a bit of a commotion surrounding the cake at a matriarch’s birthday party. This was, in truth, a welcome distraction, since the husband of one of the ladies kept inching closer until I put him on time out in the corner. The confectioners had likely failed to keep their promise. I suggested we go to the town centre and buy a new one instead of waiting for a reply that seemed ever more likely to come bearing a negative—if it came at all. In either case, we would have to fetch a cake ourselves, keeping everyone restless and waiting. Better to write to them informing them of our plan so all could stop fretting. It was a damage-minimising strategy, but I’d still argue for a refund, plus compensation for having to secure a new cake at such short notice.

When I went to retrieve my shoes, which I’d left outside the door, I discovered they had been mismatched—one black, one white, but arranged side by side as though I had arrived with them that way. I looked down upon my pristine white, structured shift dress and considered that white shoes would give my outfit a seamless look, while the black would give an avant-garde panache. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but perhaps I had brought two pairs to the party, and someone had stolen one from each. I asked the hosts if they had seen them. One said she might have and began searching in the cupboard. Another mentioned seeing a person known for stealing shoes—though why she would take only one from each pair seemed absurd.

In any case, I was prepared to leave wearing a white left shoe and a black right one—for if one of my goals was to appear avant-garde, then at least I’d be on theme. In the language of symbols, perhaps they spoke of separate goals merging congruously with a larger destiny, a resolve to converge dissimilitude into harmony.

All imperfections can be made purposeful if imbued with meaning—especially if we can discern their beauty and potential; and there is always some in everything.

And so it is, Master: in our less-than-perfect positions, we share a world, a kismet, and a single heart. At every turn of the hour, I kiss your hair, your lips, and down your neck until sunset, where I come to rest upon your chest to fall into a deep sleep. I have loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and I shall love you for a thousand more.

Your roar reverberates along a river where I’ve been relaxing:

“I am king. Take heed, my queen, of your duties—there should be no runt in the litter.”

Today’s synchronicity came in the form of Alice in Wonderland—in a unexpected text from a French friend who nicknamed me Alice after the very same and a new bus advert along the way that read: Cirque Alice, alongside an illustration of the iconic top hat of the Mad Hatter. Until the next sunset and through the next door, I will be—as I always have been—your trusted companion in a long and curious corridor. Just ask Alice when she’s 10 feet tall.

I was at the beach with my sister, sitting close to the shoreline. It was daytime in the dream world when the glassy sea shone as the sun admires its own reflection. We left our things behind and climbed up a steep hill of pure white sand, almost reaching the top when a large wave came roaring and nearly clipped our ankles. Where previously the waves had been black, and more recently green, this time they were blue—clear, beautiful, and not as large as before.

“Our things!” I shrieked, wanting to go back and get them as the wave receded, but a second wave rose, forcing us to retreat higher again. I wasn’t scared at all; in fact, I thought it was fun. I could have jumped into the water if I wanted to—unlike in other dreams, where I only watched—but I simply didn’t want to get wet while fully clothed. Besides, our things looked well secured and wouldn’t be dragged away by the current. That defied logic on earth, where beach mats and phones would be the first to go.

Leaving belongings behind and seeing them safe symbolises a security we all long for—that what is meant to be ours will not be lost while we continue searching and acquiring more. Security is more than consolation for those who don’t want to lose what they cherish.

So we waited at the top of the mound of soft sand for the waves to settle—as they always do sooner or later—like people who no longer have anything else to search for and have already found what they wanted. In the meantime, I kicked at the crests of incoming waves for cool water to envelope my feet, only because it felt nice. Some guy appeared and teased, “Ooo, she thought she could kick a wave.”

No, I did not think I could fight destiny. I could hardly make a dent in the grand scheme of things. On that note, I’d like to point out that no one who could afford to surrender is wholly powerless, even if it is to destiny itself in a spiritual shift. I was there, just sitting on soft sand because, again, it felt right, instead of absurdly building water-breakers.

In earlier dreams, I had been afraid to approach the green waves, even though they could not harm me despite their performative display. I was afraid because, I suppose, they were opaque, thick with algae. Blue, though, looked like a lot of fun; I’ve swum in blue liquid glass before as an angel made like the sun. The star-lit paths have always been properly fixed despite being shaken by an earthquake.

My tiger, how spectacular you are.

Even after all that time you stalked away, snarling, “You may kiss me, but only once. Then I’m jumping over that stream to hide behind the trees—and maybe catch a deer—because unlike a lion, I must be left alone—but mark this, you are mine.”

Like Adam and Eve as the only lovers left alive who were immortals in that film, indubitably, we are unperturbed by distance or the passage of time. “When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, even at opposite ends of the universe, if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected.”

So when one changes, so does the other—spooky action at a distance.

When we finally can come together after all that searching (and waiting as I shall be, being promised to you and your last name), everything will be exactly where we left it, just as destiny intended.