The Dream

         I saw you today. You were looking fine, well primped from head to toe. I observed how much you have grown and matured. I stared at you almost like a mother watching her little boy at his first day of school, I was proud of you. I wanted to steal just a few seconds to tell you how much you meant to me, perhaps tell you how much I love you. But then I realised that I no longer have the authority over any of your time. So, I just slipped away from your presence. Sometimes I wished your young heart would understand the passions of an adult felt for another. 

        Last night, I had a dream. I dreamt of you. I wanted to tell you about my dream. I saw you in a hospital bed. You were severely wounded. You could barely talk. I cried seeing you like that. I knew you had your own family to tend to your needs, and therefore I hesitated, but not for long.  Years of taking care of you had triggered in me the need to walk up to you. I held your right hand, the winter air had done it much cold. Your tired eyes woke up. You look at me, I held my tears back. I asked you how you felt and your eyes replied that you were happy to see me. I was, too. From then, the visit to the hospital became a regular. I was addicted to your daily progress. I loved every moment spent with you. You had this thing about you that I loved so much and wanted to tell you, but I guessed you already figured it out too. The day came when the doctors said you were ready to leave the hospital, I was proud and happy for you. That last visit, I gave you a hug. It was the last hug. That day, you left the hospital and returned to your wife and son. I cried watching how beautiful a family you all made.

        “Knock! Knock!” I woke up to the sound of the door. I heard dad’s voice calling me for breakfast. I got up remembering the dream. I wish I could freeze that moment when I last hugged you. I knew it was just a dream, but it felt real, it felt warm. And when I saw you today, I  thought to myself, “there goes my dream!”