I had a dream once, I was looking into a window of an old married couple's house. The man sleeping on the floor of the small hut with only some sheets to cover his back. There were some leftovers on the wooden table from last night's dinner, half of a loaf on a metal plate, used glasses, empty bottles and a solitary candle dimly lighted and inch by inch dying into the dark. Their grandchildren sleeping soundlessly on the side of their grandmother, tucked neatly on a makeshift bed. It was a peaceful night. Then the man started making noises, incomprehensible at first, but as I listened more, I realized it was a name of a girl--Evelyn. That was it, Evelyn. Garbled but somehow, I was able to make out some of his words and I heard him say how beautiful she is and how he repeatedly called out to her.
I almost smiled, as I find it sweet.
He was still calling out to her as I was about to leave, then it struck me. The painful truth.
Her wife's name was Nimfa.
Since then, I have always been thinking whether I would end up as Nimfa, the man or Evelyn. And it scares me.