The Dream

She felt as beautiful as she looked. Tall, slender, dark hair flowing down her back, young.  Standing in the middle of the penthouse room, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, she wondered how she had come to be there.  It didn't matter how, she decided, it only mattered that she was there.  Others attending the party were mingling, talking, laughing, while she was enjoying her drink, the music, and the view.

She had the distinct feeling that someone was staring at her.  She slowly and begrudgingly turned around to see him across the room, eyes meeting eyes, he walked through the crowd to her.  Neither spoke.  His hands caressed her shoulders, sliding up her neck, pulling her towards his lips.  They kissed the kiss of passion and familiarity.  They were strangers, but the kiss was known to them.

As they explored lips and tongue, she heard a disturbing noise in the distance.  A train?  It seemed to become louder and louder, a horn blowing from an engine coming into the room.  What was it?

Ellen opened her eyes then turned her head to her left.  Lying on his back, snoring like a freight train, was her husband of thirty years.  Annoyed and irritated, she got out of bed and made her way to the guest bedroom.  She tried to conjure up the dream that made her feel again.  It was not to be.