Across A Crowded Room

I started in narrative fashion and was unhappy with the result.  I'm trying to write the truth and an absolute minimum.  I am describing an experience.  I fear that whatever I say will not be adequate, I feel so much emotion and am trying to write objectively about what was (and is) totally subjective.

     I went to an office downtown, doing by-election work for the municipality.  I rode the elevator to the seventh floor - I was anticipating something, like I was coming home.  Inside the office, instead of talking to the receptionist, I moved left, toward a side room.
     There were two men at a desk.  One of them was tall, perhaps middle to late 40s, looking at me.  I had never seen this man before, yet I stood there, waiting for him to come and talk to me.  I knew he'd been waiting patiently for me, missing me.  Just like I had ached to see him.  I felt like I was coming home, returning to this man.  I felt great joy, I was relieved to be back, relieved I was looking at this man with whom I had a loving, strong stable relationship.
     His expression was wonderful.  He looked so happy to see me. He really had been waiting for me. Somehow, he'd known I'd be coming.  I could see he felt the connection as much as I did. Then I looked down and saw his wedding ring.  It made me turn away, disappointed, just in time to answer the receptionist's questions.
     I saw him a total of three times.  Each time, there was no opportunity to speak to him, though I tried to make myself available, sitting in the foyer, staying by the water-cooler, .  Every time I saw him, my heart would pound, I'd get cotton-mouth, my hands and knees would tremble.  I'd be happy, sad, angry, disappointed, lost & resentful.  I knew he'd had the same emotions about me.  He couldn't keep the knowledge from me, just as he knew how I was feeling.
     When we looked at each other, there was some deep, deep soul-conncection - as if we had been lovers, partners, something serious and permanent.  My hands would itch to touch him, my arms felt empty, my eyes would  start to tear up.  He was always there - He'd look at me.  I knew him then, somewhere deep inside me, just as I know him now.  He's out there.  He belongs to me. I wish I could see him, talk to him, hold him, listen to his voice, come home to him.
     I know I hadn't met this man before the experience and I've never seen him again.  I wonder where he is, if he's okay, if he misses me, if he think of me at all.   I haven't mentioned this to anyone before and keeping silent has been very difficult.  I can't believe I'd have this connection with somebody and not know who he is or what he is to me.

I'm driven to write about him.  Perhaps this will find him and bring him to me.