I don’t often sit down and write to you. But there’s a difficult question that I want to ask. It’s bothered me for a while now and it’s this: do you really know everything absolutely everything? You see, I can’t help feeling disappointed if you do. And (forgive me if this sounds disrespectful) I can’t help feeling you are missing something if you do.
Take surprises, for example. You can never be surprised. If you know everything, nothing catches you out. But that’s an awful thought to me. Have you really never experienced a moment completely unexpected – the delicious thrill of a complete surprise – a gift of love and fun that was kept a secret though we nearly burst! Can’t I tell you my favourite joke without you knowing the punch line already and pretending to laugh, like grown-ups do for children? I don’t like the thought of that.
And there are three of you aren’t there? Do you know everything about each other – and if so, what is there to talk about? Isn’t it boring? Aren’t there any secrets – like what you are getting for Christmas? Can you never creep up behind for fun and make each other jump and laugh?
Don’t you see, this affects me too. It frustrates me that there’s bits of me it seems we cannot share. Is ‘surprise’ a gift you’ve given me that wasn’t yours to give? Sometimes, in a playful mood, I want to creep up quietly behind you and suddenly burst upon you with my loudest joy – and see you jump! see your growing smile, and feel the delight of your encircling arms and hear you whisper, ‘me too, me too.’
But I can’t if you know already. And it wouldn’t be the same if I thought you were just pretending for me. And so I have a fear inside. I’m afraid that if you know everything, you must be rather serious.