Save the Last Breath

And this is when I'm supposed to write about how good this feels. To arrive home with this woman, late, drunk. Candles lit and the slow undressing, showing her perfect form, her amazing frame supporting the most precise ratio of skin and muscle. You never thought that you could find someone as perfectly proportioned as this. Everything is in its place.

As if you're not completely blown away by her physical presence, her words reveal the perfection of her mind. Intelligence that intimidates and excites. Compassion in the way she thinks. She speaks to a stranger driving a cab, asking about his night, talking about how the neighborhood has changed and grown. She shakes his hand through a tiny window at 4 in the morning and wishes him a safe drive home to his family.

She lights a candle and plays the song that nearly brings tears to your eyes with nostalgia. A song you've heard so many times before as a kid. You used to think about how it would feel to have someone so dear. You always wondered why he sang such a sad song and who could have put him in such a state. You always longed for what made him feel so strongly for a person.

She tells you that you have awakened something inside her that has been asleep. She is awake now. She is alive.

And there you are with a stranger who you feel you could trust with your life. Lying on her bed watching her undress before you. It all comes together in a flash. This is actually happening. Have you found what you've been looking for?

But you're about to leave.

Last night we sat in the dark humid night and cried about the irony of the journey that has brought me into her life and will ultimately tear me away in a few weeks time.

We're flying to Alaska on Saturday. There's no sense in being rational now.