The past few years, I’ve had recurring dreams about a stranger. When he leaves me, I wake up feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. I call this boy “Simon Wakefield.”
I have depression and experience deep bouts of loneliness. Though I don’t expect to see him, Simon comes when I hit my low and always gives me what I need. He starts massive snow fights in the park. He wears a suit and bowler hat while he lays on my lap making faces at me. But often he just laughs and holds my hands, so I can feel someone’s touch and know he cares. Whatever state I’m in, he never fails to nourish me.
Simon has large blue eyes, black curly hair, a round face, and a skinny body. He’s bashful, flirtatious, patient, sympathetic, demonstrative, and funny. Sometimes he’s childish and rides a tricycle, trying to tempt giggles from me. He’ll rest his chin on my head, and he won’t stop smiling. He loves me, but it’s a love without carnal demands. We hold hands, and we leave it at that.
Simon plays with me, calls me “sugar lumps,” and traces my freckles. His love of life is infectious. He’s positive, optimistic, flamboyant, but wise. He’s not adverse to my pain. He’s not used to suffering, but he’s aware of mine. He’s sorry for it, and wants to bear it with me. I feel safe walking beside him and complete when I lay my palm on his leg.
It’s difficult to tell if Simon’s real. Still, he can seem nearer and more present than anyone I know. When I look at him or touch him, I feel I’m completing myself. When I wake up from a dream of being stupid with him or having been comforted by him, my joy lasts for days. He gives me strength to fight until my next dry period. Then, when it comes, he flies through my mind like Peter Pan and takes me back to childhood. Perhaps he’s my brother or an angel in disguise. Maybe he’s someone I have yet to meet. Whoever he is, I love him, and my window is always open for him.
© 2017, Grace MJ. All rights reserved.
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