Probably, possibly, or maybe? The phone rings, but no one answers. I drift uncomfortably in the bay, waiting for you. Here, I swim endlessly in circles, in constant repetition. Until you pick up the phone and pixelated blocks bring your face to life. Your digital presence through this glass window, miles away from you. Two boys in two big cities in the Netherlands. Torn apart by distance. Two other lives.
Two boys who have been through a lot. Each carries their own history, scars, and dreams. Sometimes they are tormented and teased by forms of negative thinking. One boy worries about work and his future. And whether it will work out without the suffocation of medication. The other boy worries about doom constantly approaching. When they are together, everything is fine, and they are caring and kind to each other.
When they are without each other, the focus shifts to work and performance. With employers who should offer them more for everything they do. Oh well, they’ll just look for another job, so what does it really matter? I’ll do them this last favor, and then I leave freely. Another job, another city, another country. If you were to move to America, would I go with you, or would your career tear us apart? Underlying fears, hidden beneath the snow. They will rise to the surface as soon as the sun actually starts to shine.
Speaking of approaching doom, here it comes again, the dark clouds rolling in over the horizon. My pupils shrink into the emptiness. The dark interior. In your absence, I remain, kind regards. The painful, endless, nagging missing feeling. You’ve asked me before if I’ve felt this way before, and my answer was and remains “no.” This intense feeling is still new to me. A different form of love, paired with intense longing when I don’t have you around. Is it an obsession? Maybe. But isn’t life just a series of intense events, alternating with moments of stillness and catching your breath? I don’t know it any other way than this.
The phone rings again. Your face in a circle on my phone. No response. It began to rain in my head.
Martijn Winkel 