"It's nothing."

I seem to be in a romantic mood. This one is a dream I had written out.
The dream wasn't very realistic, but maybe it's supposed to be a metaphor. I still haven't figured it out.

The beat of my heels against the sidewalk become rapid as my stride quickens. Dark alleys usually scare me at night, but now. I don’t give a damn. I was sick of the hair, my feet killed, and the dress was hot as hell. I just wasn’t going to put up with it any longer.
I can’t stand to walk any longer. The wall becomes my support as I kick off one of the shoes. “Fuck“ I kick off the other. “Fuck you.” I fall against the wall and close my eyes. It’s cool against my back. I’m trying to decide whether I should cry or scream. I pull open my purse and root through all the shit inside. They’re in here somewhere. My dirty little secret. My guilty pleasure. A half empty, or half full, pack of menthol cigarettes. I chuckle at myself when I see how violently my hands are shaking as I strike the match. The instant flame entrances me, I pause to watch it burn down. I shake it out, then light another. This one I use to light the cigarette on my lips. I gaze up at the sky. No stars, It’s all hazy. The street lamps ruin it. You can never see stars here. I slowly inhale, feeling the smoke. A voice breaks my trace and I jump. The name he said sounded familiar. It sounded familiar because it was my own. I know it’s him and I don’t want to turn to look at him. I’m too damn humiliated. I don’t know, nor do I want to know, what he is going to say. I listen. He doesn’t move. I can hear him breathing. He had been running, and with the weather this hot and him in that suit, I understand how drained he must be. I’ll still don’t say a word. Finally he speaks. “Why’d you leave?”
“I was tired of it” my voice cracks. I continue to hold in tears.
I still don’t look at him and I listen once again. I hear his footsteps. Then I hear his breath. I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck. His lips brush ever so lightly against my ear and a shiver runs down my spine. He whispers in my ear. “You know it’s nothing.”
“I..” I choke.
“Why do you let it bother you so much? You don‘t have to listen.”
There is a silence and I finally turn to him, looking into his eyes. I see him glance down at the cigarette. Only now I realize that I still have one smoldering in my hand.
I close my eyes. “Fuck”
I can’t find any words. I stutter.
His hand gently touches the bottom of my chin and guides my glance from the floor to his eyes.
He doesn’t say anything. I just bury my head in his shoulder and pull him close.