You were my dream again this morning, looking as you had some forty years ago. We were college students then, and met while enrolled in the same junior-year abroad program. Though you didn’t know me well, you agreed to join me on a side excursion through Italy during spring break. I was ecstatic. You were beautiful and witty, and I was deeply smitten.

Constrained by our meager budgets, we were both so enchanted with the town of Portofino that we agreed to share a room in order to make an overnight stay affordable. The cheapest place we could find, an attic space at the top of a steep staircase in a dilapidated boardinghouse, was tiny and had no windows. But it did have a double bed under a large skylight, which we propped open to watch the stars brighten and dim through passing clouds as soft breezes drifting from the bay tumbled over us.

We slept with our clothes on. You made it clear from the outset that we would never be more than friends and I was resigned to that, though I ached for it to be otherwise. Upon awakening on that gloriously crisp, bright morning however, your hand found me. I barely allowed myself to breathe. You led, removing my undershirt and then slipping off your blouse. You pressed yourself close and kissed me with such intensity that I wondered if I’d imagined the sound of church bells echoing through the hills.

After dressing, you said you wanted breakfast and made no mention of what had happened. I worked to keep my joy in check, although my gait was more a dance than a tourist’s stroll as we walked to the harbor. When you paused to admire a lace handkerchief an old woman was selling, I reached into my pocket and bought it for you. “You shouldn’t have,” you said, accepting it hesitantly.

By lunchtime, I could no longer contain myself. “Are we going to talk about this morning?”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have. I got caught up in the moment.”

“But … ” I said, my elation deflating.

You put your index finger to my lips. “It’s not you. I’m in love with someone at home.”

We parted company after an awkward train trip back to school, and in the days that followed soon lost touch. I wrote, but you never replied.