Omar's letters to his future wife

We love the other with such momentum that we lose ourselves within them.
A man, Omar, writes letters to his ideal beloved, his future wife, whom he has not yet met. He doesn't know when or where she will appear in his life, he doesn't know what she looks like or if she has been born. Like a tightrope walker, he hovers in the void; intoxicated by the ecstasy of the abyss – love, obsession – he ignores how far his feet are from the ground. Through the letters he writes to her, he will gradually find a way to reconnect with his own existence, as the image we project onto our beloved ultimately returns to us with the same tenderness, the same passion, shedding light on the lover himself and revealing two halves that already existed within one.
These painfully honest love letters make us wonder what their sender is truly looking for, and as we slowly immerse ourselves in Karabash's writing, silently, inaudibly, we begin to transform into Omar.

You won't be obliged to answer me. I know you can't, like me, like a verbose parrot, talk about all these things that erupt from the depths of that unfathomable enamel vessel within the chest. For me, it's enough to know that you hear me, even if the conversation is interrupted, to know. That you continue to listen.
Yours, Omar.
Excerpt from the book