Dream or nighmare?

I was talking with you, it was a sunny Spring day. We were discussing some important issues regarding the topic that concerns us, world’s education. You asked me to join in a four block’s walk towards your house. Your right hand was holding a little girl’s hand. In a strange way, that little girl’s face was familiar. It reminded me of myself when I was 5 years old. I agreed on your plea, and we started walking side by side. I was by your left side, and after the fifth step…you held my hand.
For a microsecond, my heart stopped, and a freezing feeling traveled through my veins from top to bottom. I kept on walking, speechless looking at an imaginary horizon. What was I doing? I’m married, and you’re not my husband. Am I cheating on him just by letting you hold my hand? What is happening? Why is it that you held my hand in such a tender and synergic way? Is this a symbolism of you willingness to help me go on? Is it that you already know that day by day my unwillingness to continue is becoming stronger? What is this? What am I doing? You’re not like this, you’re a nice guy, but you never show your feelings. Why are you doing it with me? I’m married, and you know it. You have to know it.
The four blocks seemed endless, our first block was endless. Our silence seemed an ocean between us, and your silence was deafening. I decided to continue walking in the same speechless way. I started looking at the people around us. Would anyone recognize me? Would any of these people tell my husband that I was walking hand by hand with another man? What would I say to him? I felt I was the worst cheater in the world, just by not cleaning my hand out of yours. At some point you stopped walking, as if in the previous steps you were trying to find sufficient confidence. You stopped, released your hand from the little girl, and looked at me. You were speechless and I was quite uncomfortable. My feeling of guilt was increasing at gigantic steps. My heart was beating as a steam machine that was about to explode. You didn’t want to look at me, and you seemed embarrassed by something I couldn’t get.
Softly, your warm and tender left hand released mine. I didn’t want to look at you. I started feeling shyness as part of me. My heart had the same butterflies that I used to have in my teenage days. The same butterflies that were coming and going through my stomach. I’m married, I’m married, I’m mar…
Your lips approached mine in the most delicate way. You said “I’m sorry”, but your words were flying in the air, far away from me. I wanted to kiss you back, but I’m married, we are in the middle of the street. What am I doing? Why did you do that? Am I losing my mind? Why are you doing this to me?
Tears caressed my cheeks, and as a contagious disease, your eyes started to show a mist of tears. We stayed there looking at each other in anguish, as if we knew for certain that we were hurting someone else.
Our sad eyes finally encountered in an unbreakable bond, and my only need was to hug you, and have you hugging me back.
In that emotional embrace of souls, as fate decreeing that we would never find each other again, my alarm clock started ringing and I woke up this morning feeling bitterness at its biggest extent.