Because I liked my response so much:
(and because I'm conceited enough to admit it):

I just now got your query. The answer is yes, I want to know. But no, I don't. I delight in the anticipation of revelation, but fear the answer. My imagination runs wild across hills and valleys and galaxies, searching in every hidden depth and height for the one thing it can't think of, the one thing that your answer will ignite. Everything it's found has been disregarded as foolish, petty even. None of my discoveries have brought about the dissolution of the desire to know you, to love you more. Perhaps your answer will bring that dissolution, but perhaps not. Maybe, just maybe, you underestimate me. Of course, it's also possible that I overestimate myself. Could it be that the truth lies somewhere in the middle? Somewhere between the fire and the ice, between the dream and the reality? I want to know what you're so afraid of sharing, because the idea of your fear leaves a delicious aftertaste in me, a tingling in the base of my spine that tells me you ARE, after all, somewhat human, and not quite the god I adore. So, my love, my demigod, you tell me: DO I want to know beforehand? Or should I wait to examine and discover for myself? Less than two weeks... So before you answer (or don't) let me assure you of one thing: I'll be there. One week from Friday, my presence in *******, at ******* **** (at **:**pm) is a certainty.
Of course, that doesn't really answer your question any more than the simple "I dunno", but maybe it gives you a better idea of my frame of mind on the subject.

Sometimes, I amaze myself.
And sometimes I just suck.
Laters