The Depressed martyr masochist and his agony

I dreamt of you...
A weird dream that included your mom in it. I called you on the telephone in the dream. She answered with a hello. She said you weren't home (but you were). And told me: "You know Mike... para namang 'di mo kilala anak ko..." an implication of her knowing me; telling me something like I was someone close to her. When I woke up I had this longing to see you, to hold you. Touch you. To know that you're real. That you still existed, not only in my dreams, in the real world, my life.
Gloom covered most of my face the whole morning everybody in class even my professor noticed it. She said, "You're not your usual talkative self. Are you sleepy?" I gave her a faint smile, my eyes still having that look of tears almost falling yet it's dry because of the intensity of my thoughts.
I want to see you...
My morning class was dismissed early. We were asked to research on things and were to submit the assignments the next meeting. I sat down and put my head on my fore arm on the table. I was asleep... eventhough there were endless noises from my classmate's laptop and the loud conversations of my classmates. You rang me up. I awoke. You couldn't see me today. I said it's ok. I wanted to. But you said you couldn't. I agreed. The intense longing to see you disappeared. I had no afternoon class. I left school.