Dearest, Aline

💌 ― LETTER # 1

April 2013
Kvet, Casablanca

Dearest Aline,

I'm quite certain you didn't think I'd be able to reach out this way. Living in a technologically advanced society meant resorting to an ordinary text message as what most people would do. I, however, wanted to put in more effort.

Ever since I woke up the other day, for a split second I mistook you as a ballerina executing constant pirouettes inside my head. I felt lightheaded upon recalling the traces of your existence.

Because how can I remember such a woman in just a short span of time? I knew a lot more about you than I had anticipated. We were simply strangers who lived in neighboring cities, yet we coincidentally met at a place where I never expected ourselves to be (both for different reasons we chose to respect). And when a conversation sparked between us — courtesy of your inebriation — we progressed into strangers who lived in neighboring cities and shared a similar interest in dark chocolate.

I did not know how to get in touch with you after that. You refused my request for your phone number. Was it, perhaps, an excuse to pretend like I was just a mere passerby that night? Nonetheless, there came a faint echo of your address. I've heard your house is located in the outskirts of the town next to an acquaintance of mine. Huh. It appears like lady luck had turned against you this time.

Not sure if you'll choose to respond with your frank remarks, but hearing from you again would be a lovely idea.

Yours truly,

Alexander

P.S. What can you say about my penmanship?