The curtains are drawn at the Witcher’s place, permitting only a few subdued rays of the afternoon sun to enter the room. He is standing before me, tall and dark and surreal. I cannot see his face, but I imagine his usual look of being in thought, imagine his lips, thin and always slightly curled upwards at the edges, as if silently smiling to himself. When he finally kisses me everything dissolves into a haze of dizziness. I have waited so long for this to happen. There is no room in my head for shame or regret or any thought at all. Did he take off my shirt or did I do it myself? I feel his hands caress my back while I lie down on the couch and he starts kissing my neck..
Couch? What couch?
There is no such thing in the Witcher’s tiny flat.
I awoke and found myself at home, in the morning, some minutes before my alarm clock would go off. No time to go back to sleep to finish that dream.
There have been many like this one. I can control myself when awake, but at night, in my own world inside me, I can only watch my mind unravel, showing me all the things I want and keep myself from having. This is the one big flaw, the one thing that might one day ruin our a-little-more-than-friendship, our innocent little story together. I want him, I desire him, sometimes it’s the best I can do to keep myself from staring at his lips. This is so wrong. How can it be wrong? How can something like this potentially cause so much pain to people I love? I do not love them less therefore. But I do not love the Witcher less either just because I keep myself from doing anything wrong.
“Men and women can never be just friends.”
This is not true.
I have many male friends, and while I enjoy having their attention and chivalrous helpfullness, I do not long to be more than their friend. I value them as a person first and as a man second. Two people can always be friends, independent of their gender.
However, probably also independent of gender, it is one hell of a challenge to be just friends when you know you love each other.