Silent Desires

It felt good to write like someone possessed. I felt more alive than I had three or four minutes earlier. Three or four sentences appeared on what had been a blank page, as if time didn’t exist. There was one problem. I would have to stop in a sentence or two, or maybe sooner or later than that. Time did exist. At three o’clock, if I was fortunate, my next client would – for some reason, I couldn’t decide how to finish this sentence in my mind – arrive. This last word, arrive, sounded simple and perfect when it arrived. Perhaps I was in a good state of mind for a session. My mind was neither a blank page nor overly chaotic. Moments later, as another sentence demanded to be written, everything changed, in the room and in my mind. My client appeared in the doorway unannounced. I wished I could’ve edited this sentence in my head. As if in an instant, he moved from the doorway to the couch, where he was uninvited to sit. Things were getting out of control in my mind. He didn’t arrive unannounced. Even minutes earlier, when I’d been writing like a man possessed, about something which I couldn’t remember at the moment, images of him had come to me. Jonathan didn’t sit on the couch. He was lying on it before the previous sentence had been written in my head. The word uninvited bothered me the most. But we’d never spoken about him lying on the couch. Yet this was his time. Did he know that I was training to become a psychoanalyst? His movements and current position on the couch seemed to tell me what he needed, at least until he moved again. For the moment, both of us were silent. I imagined that we were speaking to each other in an unspoken language. Each of us, in his own way, was seeking something. Both my intense writing experience and his hurrying to the couch seemed to speak to silent desires, alive in us, if only we knew it.

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