A cozy remnant of my mortal mind visits me now. These sentences may be the only ones remaining in me. I am almost gone. So, I focus and breathe the last of my rudimentary thoughts to speak directly to you.
When I started this endeavor, I certainly would not have allowed myself to give this message, but as a little girl, neither would I have readily adopted the perspective of another who was not of my mind. All that is going now, so I can disagree with myself and watch me do it, holding my self in judgment the entire spell while understanding that there are more than my biases to guide me.
Increasingly my words sound like riddles, I realize. Yet I—at least I—know they are not.
My attentiveness meanders.
The story I've sent to your world is true, as valid as the stars and soil. Yet, for me, everything is valid now, or should I say I am beginning to see what it means that soon I will understand everything is true in a way more significant than I had, and even do now. How can I explain except to say with an overly simplistic allowance that everything is which is possible? Everything is, which is felt, which is thought, which our senses tell us exists.
Apologies. My attentiveness again meanders to another self.
The protagonist Giels asked me to tell his story and do so for people very far away. He did not say this, per se, but he asked nonetheless. Perhaps I overshot but, if I did, it was because the people in my sphere would rather I not tell it at all. They did not say that, but if I explained why they did not need to, I would wrap these words around and in and upon themselves until they might form a beautiful animal—not with their content, but within the shapes of their lines. In essence, though, their and Giels's reasons are the same.
But I believe you, who within a dark, very dark night's sky could see our sun, might enjoy it. This story is far from your experience, yet, I think there is much that will be familiar; the themes, the characters, the vicissitudes.
As the translator, I did my best with what is remaining of my narrative mind to convey the words and translate the reality into one you could relate to. No need to concern yourself as to whether you are receiving the real details—as I had said, everything you shall experience is true, and I even added the parts that Giels was not there to experience for himself.
I've now finished, yet the story shall pass through another translation by how I will dispatch it to you. My options number in the billions, and if you are reading this, then my choice was adequate, but if you finish it, then I hope—I truly hope—I will somehow find a way to smile at that.
With eternal love,