I picked it up anyway. A split second of battle, and I was heading down that beaten path once again.

"Don't do it to yourself", my little voice said.

And for that single second, that eternal second, I stopped. And I remembered.

The gentleness in her eyes, softness of her lips, I felt them brush past me. A crooked smile and a knowing look that always made me smile in return. A free laugh and a warm touch that made it so easy to trust, so easy to be honest. And for my hardened heart, caring and emotion, maybe even love, were beating at the walls.

I knew it couldn't last, and that made it safe.

Coming out of a ruined long-term relationship, I needed to know that I wouldn't be hurt again. I wouldn't let myself care. She was moving away, bound for Colorado. And there was no risk for either of us. We'd enjoy the moment, no strings, no hidden weight to burden us. I felt aged beyond my years by my prior romances, and needed to heal. Rebounding from the loss of her high-school sweetheart of eight years, she needed my safety. We were free to truly enjoy ourselves.

And as the days on the calendar melted away, I felt my self growing younger by the day.

"I told my mom" she said, "that I'd met my density." We laughed, and I just couldn't hear what my little voice was shouting about. And the days, they just flew by.

As she walked away, I found the courage to say "I love you, kid".

And she had the strength to say "I know, I lo...". And that she was going to miss me. And that she was going to call me tomorrow before...she left.

A year had passed. Then eighteen months. Time enough for some quiet introspection and recovery. I'd begun dating again, even finding myself involved with a lover, brilliant and beautiful, enough to make any man forget. But by then, I was going to be moving, starting over. I'd take a long cross-country journey before settling in Oregon. And I felt I had moved on, saying my good byes, enjoying several of the best months of my life.

And even then, on the night before leaving at sunrise, I ignored reason, choosing to open that wound just one last time.

I called her mom, to give a forwarding address. To get her number, if possible.

Her mother was so glad to talk to one of her friends, and I was moving to Portland? Why she's been living there for the last six months, staying with friends. But she's moving back. In fact her plane comes in tomorrow at two. I'll have her give you a call before you leave.

And at sunrise I closed the book, leaving my old life behind.

It's my density.

I stared at the postcard. A coffee shop in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

"I miss you."