© 2006 Guy Verville (détail)

I dreamt of him

I dreamt about him. He stood next to me, I could­n’t see his face, but I could observe his hair, guess the strength of his blood through the pul­sat­ing vein on his neck.

I remem­ber him show­ing me some­thing and smil­ing at me. I can’t know what and why. I think the dream was brief – how can we real­ly mea­sure the eter­ni­ty of a dream ? – I woke up think­ing of him and, for three weeks now, he has been haunt­ing my thoughts.

I won­dered what he was, I went around the few men I knew. I observed those I met on the street, in the sub­way, my eyes linger as much on what is begin­ning as on what is end­ing. I came to ques­tion my ideals, vague as my desire for hap­pi­ness, and then I stopped look­ing else­where for peo­ple, in these inac­ces­si­ble paradises.

After a time of silence, he came back to me ; I end­ed up, I think, rec­og­niz­ing him with­out him say­ing a word or mak­ing a ges­ture. I don’t real­ly dare to ques­tion or name him yet. Is this obvi­ous ? I dreamed of myself, of who I am, what I have been, what I have done since all this time I remem­ber so lit­tle. I can hard­ly talk about it. This man is inside me, he leaves me so often, he goes on his ship and promis­es to come back. I am his future wid­ow, although, to be hon­est, I know he will sur­vive me.

I dreamt of him, of me, I wait for his return so that he can tell me about his adven­tures so that he can feed me. I want to under­stand it, to know it. He is the one and only true com­pan­ion. No won­der I looked for it and I’m still look­ing for it in my friends, lovers, strangers.

I miss him.