William & Coan

-Chapter 3: And so I dream-

I used to dream of running. To run so far I wouldn't recognise the world around me anymore. Past trees and forests. Past dry and wet lands. Desserts and swamps. Past flat fields and big mountains. Through the beautifully molded planet. And out into the wild where there was nobody but me. Where I didn't have to be anybody and I didn't have to care about anybody. Where my shyness could shine through and I could be totally silent. Where I didn't have to listen to anyone but the few words I spoke myself.

I always had a hard time interacting with reality. I was always awkward at life. I felt like I always had to be someone I was not. Talk more than I really wanted to. I didn't speak a whole lot and if I did, no one seemed to understand what I was saying. But if I could have been in the wild all by myself I didn't have to speak to anyone and there would be no one to misunderstand my words.

I used to dream of playing the guitar. To use my fingertips to slowly caress the strings and let them release the tones I wanted to hear. And let the small sounds that sound like rain fill my mind. But I always played the piano and that became too easy. It didn't fall into my mind that I could learn something harder. That would just become a nuisance after already having played it so much. To take a world that you are totally familiar with and deconstruct and reconstruct it to experience something new, it didn't seem like a good experience. People I knew who played the guitar were jealous of me and wished they could do what I did. And I would be jealous too and wish I could do what they did.

Something that seemed like everybody dreamed of, was love. But I certainly didn't dream of this. Love was hard. It was another form of art where you had to be yourself but even more than platonic situations. That didn't make sense in my mind. Why would anybody want to love me as myself? I was shy and quiet and didn't really know how to interact with actual humans. So instead I forced myself to talk about stuff I think people would find interesting and normal. But they always came with a comment like: "What a strange thing to say" or "that isn't something you hear everyday". And they would follow up with these weird facial expressions I couldn't use for anything. What I found out later would be what some people call flirting. Such a weird way to express yourself. With expressions that had to be perceived and then re-received by the target. And say stuff that was way too complex for anyone to take it into context. I was then the weird one if I just said what I was thinking. Love wasn't a dream what so ever, it was a nightmare, but also a worry.

I also used to worry a lot.

I used to worry that I would do something boring with my life. If I would end up doing something like what my dad does. I didn't want to be like my parents. I didn't want to be regular. Regulaar. Regulaere. Regualer. I worried that my life would become unsatisfying. An endless stream of the same things over and over. Like a conveyer belt, always carrying the same stuff again and again. Carrying it for somebody else.

I used to worry about existing. What if I somehow would fail at simply existing. The one thing I knew how to do. When I couldn't talk to people. When I couldn't be myself. When I couldn't solve my own problems. When I couldn't go up to the cashier by myself. When I couldn't understand life. All those times I couldn't do stuff, I could still exist. As long as I kept existing, I would be safe. Then what if I stopped existing? What if I suddenly ceased to exist? Or left a part of reality? What if I disappeared from reality and went to a whole other plane of existence? 

"And why in the hell worry about so complicated things?" My father would say

I used to worry that I would be alone. Something inside me told me that it was probably bad to be alone forever. Everyone has someone, and everybody needs to have someone. I don't know where that strange opinion came from. Being alone made me excited and it put my mind at ease, but at the same time it scared me. I couldn't know what life would be like if I got my wishes of being all by myself. Somehow I didn't trust that my wishes were good in the end. I do trust it now at least.

I learned to cut off my worries. To simply cut the possibilities of those worries out of my life.

Will I end up doing something boring with my life? Never grow up, or get a job, or do anything remotely adult? Be mature, not adult.

Will I stop existing suddenly? Exist.

Will I be alone forever? Be only with yourself. Only you matter. You can never be alone if you only have yourself. Having only yourself in life and being alone isn't the same thing. Mature ≠ Adult.

Will I never be able to be myself? Before I got to find the answer to cutting that off, I met William. He was only himself. He never stopped speaking and he claimed to know everything, and I didn't question him. When I met him I wasn't myself. I tried to keep talking but after a while I noticed that he saw through my hollow responses. He could see I only said things to have a polite response. And he didn't need to tell me, I saw it myself. When I finally got the courage to be myself, my quiet self, he told me:

"You're not yourself anymore."

"No, I am myself. Finally."

"Well then, you're yourself anymore."

For the first time I had met someone who didn't mind me not speaking. Not because he didn't like speaking either, but the exact opposite, he wouldn't stop. I always pictured that if I found someone that I would truly enjoy, they would be the type of person who enjoyed the silence as much as myself. However, William taught me that I didn't enjoy silence, but being silent. And I taught him that he didn't enjoy talking, but telling. It was a weird imbalancing balance between us. And he was the one dream I never thought I would dream of. Being in love. I never dreamt of that, but now I suddenly had it. It seemed I hadn't achieved any of my dreams, but my wildest dream. My wildest dream I didn't know I had. My wildest dream, love. My wildest dream, William.

Now I didn't worry about not being able to be myself. I didn't worry at all anymore. When I was with him nothing else really interfered with my mind. All my dreams and worries had become numb. I didn't need to find a way to cut my worries off, I needed to find something, someone, to blur them out. That someone was William.

Now I am worried again, and I have dreams again. 

I worry I will never experience those emotions again. That my love was the only love. I worry the state of finally being myself around someone, would never come back.

I worry that the seat beside me in the train will never be occupied by anyone else ever again. Not just anyone, the one.

I dream of running. Running back up to Pueeirie and living the life I never thought I would have. I dream of him occupying the seat next to me in the train, and we ride to the very last station, and we run up to Pueeirie together. We never look back, and know that is where we are supposed to be. I dream of that life again more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything. more than anything.

Perhaps, I don't.

Because as before, my wildest dreams weren't what I thought I dreamed of. I think I dream for that life again. I think I dream of William coming back to me. Maybe the next wild dream isn't that. I want to think that, but I can't imagine something better.

I can't imagine something better.