My favorite tree is a weeping willow for obvious reasons, a bit of a sad looking tree. But the long downward branches offer protection and comfort. I don’t really have a favorite type of plant or flower. I also don’t particularly like those beautiful and colorful bouquets because they die too quickly. I don’t need temporary splendor. I want it to last longer, I want it to last forever. Something constant, but not for too long, because then I get bored and might want to leave again. I have so many things to prove, and yet I don’t really care about it all either. I want to shout it from mountain tops and whisper it in gentle streams. I want all your attention and to be left completely and utterly alone. I want to feel the duality in everything, pure pleasure and razor-sharp pain. Tears must be flowing generously, and my laughter needs to be heard all across the office. Past the lockers, the staff restaurant, and all the meeting rooms, until it eventually ends as a whisper in the library all the way to the back. Maybe I had too few friends as a child or didn’t get enough attention. Maybe I’m just a sensitive guy who dreams of having everything except moderation. A guy who sometimes falls in love. A guy who sometimes gets disappointed by the twists and turns of life.
I’ve always viewed my life so far chronologically, in chapters like a book. Certain chapters have been periods with specific groups of friends, a relationship, or events that have stayed with me. I don’t know if people would make an extremely fascinating documentary about those parts that make up my life up until today. But I hope that, all the way to the end, it will result in something fun and watchable. I hope that someone will find my little stories one day, like a long-forgotten painting in an attic. And turn it all into something beautiful. Ideally, I would experience that before I die, but that’s in my hands now. Or should I say our hands?
Which brings me to you. I also hope that you stay until the end of the ride, if I am totally honest. However long that might be. You’ve been such a pleasant human by my side over the past few months that I would hate for you to vanish into memory. I have no idea which handsome actor should play you in my documentary, but if I asked you, you’d probably name three handsome men right away. Because that’s you. Always quick-witted with an answer. And never short of a recollection of handsome men. As long as it’s not someone from your current harem, you won’t piss me off.
´I am more than enough,´ the singer croons in my headphones. But am I really more than enough? More than enough for what or for whom? For others, or just for you? I lingered on these questions for a few minutes. I come to the conclusion that maybe I’m enough for others, but maybe not always enough for you. I don’t really know for sure; maybe I am in certain ways. But there will always be other men in your life who fill different roles. Usually concerning intimacy, in which I am not exclusive. There will always be others for you, but you are enough for me. Sometimes you’re too much for my mind. Like a bouncy ball, you bring me temporary pleasure. But eventually, you shatter all my porcelain and bounce right out the window, rolling down the hill while I chase you. But when I’m with you, everything is calm and fine. Then you fall asleep on my lap while I play games. Softly snoring in complete safety. One day I will get used to it, I hope.
I’ve tried to distance myself from you a bit too. Not because you hurt me, but because I knew what would happen over time. If the initial connection that we had would last longer than a night. And you were pretty clear from the beginning about what wouldn’t happen. But I fell hard for you anyway, and I surprised myself a bit about that. It sounds a bit sad, but usually, I don’t let that happen so easily anymore. Not that you can do anything about falling in love—that was my downfall. But the opening up part. Something about you made me give you a chance. And so I fell hard. I let my emotions take over, and they dominated most of our days. Falling in love at the brink of madness. You can’t truly stop someone from falling in love.
Eventually, I told you, risking that the feeling might not be reciprocated. Which can always happen when you start going out with someone. But luckily, the feeling wasn’t one-sided in the end. You like me too, and I’ve become an important part of your life. So, I’ve accepted that I’ll just see where this ship goes. A loving bond without rules and an intimate, mature relationship perhaps? I don’t ask you to give up your freedom, and I won’t stand in your way. I certainly don’t want an expiration date or an ultimatum. I just want to keep seeing you. To make things, experience, and discover more together. And if you find that too suffocating, I’ll take a step back. And if you feel like you’re leading me on, then cut the rope and let me go. And if it’s me that can’t deal with your antics in the end, I will leave. I only ask you to tell me how you feel and be honest. The rest, we’ll see. Of all the times we could have met and missed each other, I’m glad we found each other after all.
Where this story will go, I don’t know. That’s something only time will tell.
The night calls me, because in the night, I am safe. I’ve always been a night person. When I was younger, I always stayed up as long as I could, secretly. Because in the night, I came alive. That’s when all the ideas, inspiration, and energy started flowing. When my mom or dad came to check if I was asleep, I quickly turned off my nightlight as I heard them coming up the stairs. I memorized sounds and patterns and knew exactly what to pay attention to in order to make it all work without getting caught. So I could stay up just a little longer, reading or playing games in bed. Of course, my mom or dad would catch me sometimes, and I’d get a lecture about how important a good night’s sleep was for a growing young boy. But I got my first taste of what mysteries the night held.
The night is a different world. A world that’s quieter during the week but comes alive on the weekend. The world looks different at night, cloaked in mysterious darkness. Other people come to life; night owls and nightcrawlers. Work begins or continues endlessly at night. All the hidden things happen that you don’t see during the day. Animals wake up and go about their business. Night lights go on while bodies rest. And with a bit of bad luck, my creative brain goes into overdrive at that very moment, when I should be sleeping because I have to work the next day. Because I’m not a little boy anymore.
I love the nightlife. The unity on the dance floor with strangers and friends. The encounters and adventures. Stepping outside for fresh air among people that need a breather or to smoke. When it’s just too cold for that in the fall, or just the right coolness in the summer. Letting yourself be seduced by the night with the charm of a starry sky. Making bad choices and laughing about it in the end. Memories that you talk about the next day with your friends, trying to piece together the puzzle of everything that happened in the night. The nighttime walks outside to think and let go of things. Staring out the window into the night and wondering what you might be missing. And how the night turns to day, and you immediately miss it again. But it will return, as always.
And this time, I will dance with you into the night, just like we once did.
Martijn Winkel 