Tom Hanson stood, still in pajamas, staring at the far wall of his bedroom with a piece of chalk in hand. Only a few hours before, he'd begun scratching out ideas for a cityscape there. For a few precious moments, it had almost been as if she had never existed. Now he was stuck and she had managed to find her way back into his mind.

At first, only small glimpses of her face made their way into the back of his mind and he'd succeeded in pushing them back. But before long, her face, her eyes, her laugh, her very presence had filled all the empty spaces, like a candle being lit in a dark room. The strong, straight lines of his buildings were suddenly wobbly and uneven. He'd tried one last time to tell himself that he was doing something he loved and that she had no right to interfere until he remembered that it had been she who had suggested he pursue architecture once again. He'd had to stop after that.

He looked over his work critically. It was far from done, but there was a definite shape and design here. Even a person with no working knowledge of building design could tell that a tower went here, a tier there, a theater belonged in that corner and the square clearly began somewhere in that space to the far left. He'd purposely moved things around. The last thing he wanted was to create a skyline like the one he'd drawn for her. This was not for her, it was for him, and she had no right to keep interrupting like this. He wasn't aware of how tightly he was holding the chalk until he felt it snap in his hand, a tiny cloud of white dust emitting from the two, once joined ends. The particles caught the light that streamed through the window. It had to be at least seven o'clock by now. Had he slept at all last night? He couldn't remember.

It wasn't a particularly bad design. His old talent was beginning to shine through again, and he was surprised at how much he'd remembered from his school days. But it wasn't particularly good either. Or rather, it wasn't extraordinarily good. There wasn't any feeling behind it. Sure, the technical aspect and theory of it were fine, but it was something that almost anyone could do. It wasn't what he really wanted to design. It wasn't his. And neither was she, apparently.

He sighed deeply and walked to the bathroom to wet the wash rag he'd been using as an eraser. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink, he paused for a moment and took in his mussed hair and the dark circles under his eyes. The rag sufficiently dampened, he returned to his room and contemplated the wall once more. Yes, he was definitely throwing it out and starting over. He began erasing all his well-thought-out lines, amazed at how hours of work could disappear in mere minutes. He wanted to draw his cityscape, not some made up bullshit. He closed his eyes and imagined it the way he'd drawn it that day on her arm. Towers and skyscrapers appeared in his mind; he could recall every detail as if she were standing right here with him. He opened his eyes, and began to create.

Tom Hanson realized that no matter how many greeting cards or nights out at the bar with his colleagues there were, he would always want to do this. His skyline would always be there, waiting in his mind. And as he began to place two buildings so that they would frame the sun as it rose into the sky each morning, he realized that a small part of him would always be in love with Summer Finn.

Some things just never changed.