Letter to Brynhildur

 

Dear Brynhildur,

I apologize for writing to you once more, but I initiated these lines a week ago, and I cannot leave them incomplete, regardless of whether you will decide to respond to my previous letter, as well as to the one which follows.

This is just a mere dedication to our encounter, however brief and incomplete, yet subtly authentic. When I correspond with someone, such as this, it is not always with a specific purpose, but rather because I may have feelings for the person or feel particularly attracted in a way peculiarly intellectually inspiring. Indeed, I do it mainly for myself. It is my method of organising thoughts, much like tidying a room in one's hectic life, to bring a sense of order and clarity amidst chaos. However, do not get me wrong, this is not a selfish endeavor.

Since childhood, I have found joy in writing and attempting to connect with others, sharing my perspective on the world, for as much unsolicited. Deep down, I hope to find something common and captivating that resonates with the other, creating meaningful moments that linger in memory. Something intimate. Something authentic and pure, however fleeting, that makes us feel more human, more vulnerable, more alive, and perhaps unveils an attraction, on the hunt for that idyllic connection humans seek in moments of solitude and hardship.

I wish I could have expressed these sentiments in person, to have had more time together, and to listen to you. I have made casual attempts to spend time alone with you, but it never felt quite right. I am unsure if this makes sense. I am not reaching out to you out of desperation for attention or due to strong feelings, but because I find something profoundly genuine, unique, and sensible in your story, your past, and your deliberate choice to distance yourself from everything, in such a remote place as Iceland.

There is something incredibly intriguing in your mannerisms. In your conscious desire and need to revel in festivities last week, something remarkably endearing. In your way of expressing yourself through small gestures and few words, something extremely deep and aware. And all of that deeply resonated with me.

A whole that breathed from you along with what – I perceived – it was an interest for affection and intimacy. I appreciate that you – very kindly – declined a first, and then a second time. They were both wrong times, I reckon. My misinterpretation of your signals is apparent to me now, and I realize that my attempts at closeness were coming from a misconstruction of them. I just felt at some point like something coming from inside you, a longing for attention, for care, for caress, amplified by that sense of distance from everything and everyone. I wanted to hold you close, to caress your hair, and simply be together. I shared these thoughts with Willem, who expressed a similar sentiment. We both hold you in high regard, you know. There is no jealousy; instead, we have formed a strong bond in just a few days, a rarity at our age, in such a short time. Tomorrow, we are spending time together, and Hanne will join us too. I am grateful to have met them. It is uncommon to encounter individuals who touch your soul in such a profound manner as we grow older.

This is all, I guess. Please do not perceive my words as an awkward burden to carry, they stem from my very genuine nature. I believe, you may have already noticed it. Perhaps, my eloquences amplified by the remnants of the festivities spirit and a modest stash of cheap grappa - courtesy of one of the guests at my last Christmas party.

Thanks for allowing me to convey the above to you. Should you find yourself in Amsterdam or should our paths cross again amidst the unpredictable whirlwind of life, I am certain there will be joyous moments worth living and, perhaps, writing about. I hope to see you again, soon.