I didn’t want to go to the party. I knew I would run into him and I knew he would bring her. My replacement. How could he move on so soon when I still hadn’t filled his side of the closet?

You were my world. The sun rose and fell on you. My eyes reflected the goodness and the light that I saw in you. You were everything to me. And I was just an afterthought to you. It was simple. You didn’t love me the way that I loved you. In fact, you didn’t love me at all.

He came into my life like a soft spring rain, calm, refreshing, a new beginning of sorts – and left with the force of a late summer hurricane, strong, deadly, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake.

The way you looked at me, it was as if you could see into my soul. When you touched me I felt shock waves travel through my skin. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to allow someone to get so close. Loving you was such exquisite torture.

I stood against the wall holding a glass of wine in my right hand, my left hand resting between the wall and the small of my back. My legs were crossed at the ankles and now I wish I’d been brave enough to wear the three-inch raspberry heels that would have set-off the silver scoop neck dress I wore to the fundraiser. Staring across the room I saw him, my kryptonite, Alexander Jenkins. No matter. To him I was unseen. A fly on the wall so to speak. After a very casual encounter eight months earlier it was clear to me that I would only fall prey to his deadly charm and love-em-and-leave-em ways. Still, a girl must hope to be noticed, admired, desired. Even if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell it will lead anywhere.

I continued my unabashed visual assault on his perfect body. Jesus. It was as if Adonis himself had passed his genes along. His dark blonde hair was long enough to run his hands through – a subconscious habit that left him with tousled looking after-sex hair. Sapphire blue eyes that were no doubt plucked from the heavens. Perfect facial features that were the envy of every plastic surgeon on the Upper East Side. He had a rigorous pre-dawn work-out schedule that kept him looking more like a superhero and less like a business savant. My mouth did it’s half wolfish grin thing just when he turned and caught my eye and my heart skipped a beat.

He locked eyes with me, returning a devilish grin of his own, and strolled over to where I stood. “Victoria, you’re looking,” he took more than a moment to look me up then down then up again, “scrumptious.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Alex.” I tried to keep my voice even, sipped from my wine to steel my nerves.

“What are you doing standing here on the fringes? A gorgeous woman like you should be the very center of attention.” He took my hand and led me forward into the crowd. Whispering into my ear, he gave me shivers. “I’ve missed you darling. Eight months I’ve looked for you. You’re quite the mystery. Don’t think I’ll let you slip away that easily this time.” I smiled with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude.

The last few days I haven’t been capable of stringing together more than a few words, maybe a sentence at most. Every futile attempt has ended in a puddle of frustration. I struggle to find a story at every turn. So I give up today and look forward to tomorrow with hope that I will find my inspiration. Perhaps like a butterfly, if I give up the chase and just sit still, it will alight on my shoulder.

I’ll let the porch light shine just a few weeks more. Maybe he’ll return in the middle of the night. I won’t ask him where he’s been or why he left. I’ll take his hand and lead him to the bed and show him how much I’ve missed him.

There are infinite ways to love me.

But only one way to capture my heart.

“Where were you last night?” I heard his voice as I tip-toed across the living room floor in the early dawn hours. I thought I had been quiet when I came in the door at 5 am. I took off my red stilettos before I entered our apartment. The sun had yet to break the eastern horizon and his alarm wouldn’t sound for another 45 minutes. I thought I would be safely in bed by then. Until I heard his gravelly voice call out from across the darkened room.

I stalled for time, searching my mind for an excuse. “Can you be more specific?” Standing still where I had frozen when I first heard his voice, my heart raced with fear. I had come close to being caught before and the feeling had been exhilarating but this, this was something altogether terrifying.

“How much more specific shall I be?” His voice sounded calm on the surface, but I detected the razor’s edge on his words. “You went out with Margo and Jillian at 8 last night. It’s 5 am and you’re sneaking in the door holding your heels in your hands. You look like you don’t want to get caught. The question is, what have I caught you doing?”

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could just make out his face with the moonlight through the window dancing off his profile. He was classically handsome, with short brown hair and green eyes. His face looked almost as if it had been carved of marble by one of the masters, but had enough flaws to make him human – relatable. The stubble on his face was amazingly sexy and, were it not for the circumstances, I might have crawled to him on my hands and knees and allowed him to take what he wanted.

This was a damn fine time to decide he was worth staying for. Lie or truth? Which would better work to my advantage? “Margo had way too many. I took her home and she was sick. Everywhere. I stayed to hold her head while she was sick, cleaned her up, tucked her in bed then cleaned her house.” I made a mental note to talk to Margo as soon as possible. Crossing the room, I knelt before him and stroked his thigh. “I took off my shoes because I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry if I worried you.” As I laid my head in his lap I closed my eyes, the flash of guilt tearing through me like a knife. I’d learned my lesson. This time.

I float on a sea of emotions. Untethered, anchorless, tossed about on the waves. Powerless, I ache for calm but only get caught in the swells. An endless swirling vortex from which there is no escape.

I was crossing Haight Street when I saw him. Sitting next to her in the café. A younger, blonder version of me. Their bodies were angled towards each other, heads bent, nearly touching. Her hand rested on his knee and he brushed her long tresses back as he whispered into her ear; something funny because her head fell back and she laughed. I was too far to hear but I imagined a melodious tinkling sound and a lightning bolt of jealousy shot through my heart.

I stood on the street corner for minutes, only partially hidden from his line of sight. As if I wanted to be caught. I wanted to stop, I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t stop staring. It was like I was looking at myself ten years earlier. Sitting with him, in the same café, listening to the same whispers, and laughing. Most of all I remember the laughing. It doesn’t happen often to me anymore.

His hand closed on the front door knob. “I’m tired of fighting. It’s the same thing over and over. We never get past it.” Even though I knew his words were true, something in me still wanted to fight. I couldn’t let go of whatever stood between us.

He slowly opened the door and I felt the chill of the night air seep into the room. I turned my back in defiance, as if daring him. “If you walk out that door, don’t come back.” My voice wavered slightly with apprehension. The silence was killing me.

I slowly turned around and he was gone.