he was a little vulnerable, like a boy seeking a mother’s love
Category: dreams
building/breaking
i made a nest of sticks:
it was held together by the dream
thought it was pretty, and
it was; i saw you were beaming
cradled it between my palms —
like i would have had you, maybe —
and crushed it
(what i can build, i can also
break)
gwyn’s theory of interpersonal interest, #1.5 (an interrogation of desire)
In this series: #1 | #1.5
This morning, I dreamt of one of them again.
We were at a chalet gathering, composed such that it seemed that I had organised a party on a whim merely to celebrate people important to me.
He stood out — of course he did — and when he made his entrance, my friends looked at him wryly, as if he was not one of us.
He was… insouciant, that’s the word. Nobody moved to accommodate him, yet he took his place in the middle of the circle as naturally as a king glides to his throne. I actively continued flittering in social butterfly mode, but I couldn’t help sneaking a look at him occasionally.
I might have kept looking in his direction because I was hoping there would be a moment when he would be looking back, having been waiting all this time to ensnare me.
All it would have taken was a single moment, a single intention, and a single action.
But it didn’t matter because I was his from the start, and I knew that he knew it.
Inevitably, he turned his attention to me as the night went on; perhaps that was his purpose all along as a character in my story. He was flirtatious to a fault, his manner careless; he acted like he wanted more, but he was a bad actor — all his declarations rang empty.
In spite of it all, I was getting carried away — until I caught myself, whereupon the dream ended.
As I lay staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of my dream, I realised that I had portrayed him in a unidimensional manner. That wasn’t necessarily on me: after all, I could only work with what he had decided to show me in the limited time we had together.
I am inclined to believe that he, like everyone else, is a complex creature. Our circles are deeply interconnected, much as I’d prefer otherwise (a drawback of sourcing your prospects from outside dating apps — it gets complicated). And when your circles overlap, you hear stories. When you hear stories, you come to conclusions.
My conclusion was that there was a lot more under his surface worth uncovering, even as his flaws seemed destined to prevent me from doing so.
But might I be being too kind to him to assume that he was more than what he seemed? His appeal was precisely his inaccessibility — he was a blank canvas on which I could project whatever I wanted.
I’ll admit that writing this post is an admission of desire — an example not accounted for in my theory of interpersonal interest. So, it is worth adding the caveat because I understand only now: to be interested in someone does not mean you ultimately want them in your life.
No matter how many dreams I have or how many love letters I write to you.
And yet — simply because we were not meant to be doesn’t mean I didn’t love you.
Or, at least, whatever I knew of you.
giving and taking
I had a dream — a nightmare, perhaps — where I was lying beside one of them.
A third party, a casual talker who seemed to lack self-awareness, shared the bed with us. Staring at his back, turned away from us and at a respectful distance, I found myself grateful rather than annoyed by his intrusion.
Either way, I remained pensive, a feeling of discomfort bubbling in my chest until I mentioned that maybe I should go home instead. I said it was the morning, but I just didn’t want to be around him.
Curled up beside me, close enough but never making contact, he muttered something to pacify me. But his body language did not match his words — he seemed to want to get closer and closer the more I squirmed to get further.
He wasn’t the only one, I realise. In every moment I was with them, the abject terror of being jumped pervaded our waltzes; the only real choice I had was whether to lean into the joy of being hunted. I allowed them to decentre me — for that was what I was willing to give — and all of them seemed to revel in taking without reciprocating.
And then they would eventually tell me, sometimes not even directly, as if I wasn’t worth their while — that I was too much for them.
altered states
i dreamt of you, finally.
you told me you met the greatest love of your life, yet your voice cracked ever so slightly, and your smile was a little twisted.
you didn’t have to tell me; i know it was merely a matter of time. i hope you hold onto her tight and give her all the love she deserves, and her to you.
why were we standing facing each other again?
of all things, i remember the embrace of your arms in the quiet dark — it’s not been the same since. my cheek nestled in the nook of your neck, the steady whisper of your breath on my forehead. you would always fall asleep first — softly, calmly, the rise and fall of your chest signalling the transition to an altered state of consciousness.
one, two, three, four.
i would catch up to you later, lingering in that liminal space where nothing else mattered; it was just you and me. even when we had to wake up eventually, even when you would unconsciously turn your back to me in time.
i love you, i love you.
indeed, in an altered state, you will always be mine.
baby g’s diary 