And that's how it was for several days. I'm not sure how many. Obviously, I lost count. Once the dam of our lust had broken, bursting forth, it washed over us, impossible to contain. I would awaken every morning, hardly able to stand upright, weak and trembling from all our furious love making. I was deleriously happy, sore and shaky, but happy. Every time William took me into his arms, I felt like I was in a dream, and never wanted to wake up. I couldn't get enough. I nearly lost my job at least twice, but

I didn't care. It was so worth it.

I remember, how one evening, I came home, exhausted from my day, and missing him terribly. When he greeted me at the door, he didn't utter a word, he just grabbed me, drugging me with slow, melting kisses, pushed me to the wall, and took me from behind. Just thinking about it makes me shudder...

But of course, as much as I wanted it to, this didn't last. Our passion tapered off, as most things do in life, well, at least his did. It got to the point where I barely saw him, and when I did, he didn't speak to me, much less kiss me. He went away for three straight days, and I hadn't heard a word from him. I was going crazy, thinking he was dead, terrified that I was never going to see him again, when he showed up in the apartment just before dawn.

I screamed at him, smashing things. He tried to settle me down, but didn't even attempt to explain his actions. He didn't so much as say goodbye when he strode toward the front door for the last time. I launched myself at him, crying hysterically, trying to prevent him from leaving. He merely removed my hands from his coat, effortlessly, looked into my eyes, and kissed me, hard and bruising. I nearly let myself get swept away in him, in the moment, in the feeling of his hard body, the taste of his lips, his scent enveloping me, but once I realized what was happening, I pulled away from him, probably the hardest thing I had ever done, and slapped him with all of my strength across his handsome face.

He stopped, and stared at me a moment, his eyes holding that old tenderness I used to see when he looked at me, and then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He turned away, opening the door, disappearing from my life forever.

A dark emptiness filled me at the moment, once I truly realized he was gone, and the tears flooded my eyes. I didn't stop weeping until all my tears were gone.

As time passed, I got a little better. I'm not as devastated as I once was, and my life went on, but he indelibly left his mark on me. He captivated me, completely, utterly, and still to this day, I think about him, dream about him, yearn for him. Through time, I gained a better understanding of why he left and why he left the way he did. He didn't tell me why he was going because he knew I already did, though I didn't

realize it at the time. He never said the words because he knew instinctively that they would have hurt me, cut me to the heart. I've always known where he went and why, I

just never let myself accept it. He's searching for something, someone, the person he gave his heart to long ag, and I respect that. I could never stand in his way.

Every now and I then I'll be walking down a crowded street on my way to work, and I'll see bleach blond hair, beautiful, sweeping details of his face, the strong, sure

strides of his body. I'll look closer and realize, in a split second, it wasn't actually him, just another random guy. I'll be crushed for the rest of the day.

Sometimes, I'll be up late after work, sitting in the kitchen, and I'll smell the familiar scent of his favorite brand of cigarettes waft through the window. My heart will race, and I will rush to the window, no matter how ridiculous it seems, even to me, to look out into the street.

Every single time I'm disappointed, he's never there, leaning on a street lamp, cigarette in hand, his smile a wicked challenge. I don't think I'll ever learn...