I can't help myself, it seems...

They met again. And again. And yet again.

Each time, her breath came quicker, and more and more she realized the truth of her situation: She was his. Beyond denying, beyond controlling, beyond believing. Such love and devotion...and to one who's lips she had never felt, who's touch had been but fleeting...she was lost. In the mirror, her own tear stained face looked back at her, criticizing her own weakness, her own desires. Yet again, she had met with him, and taken another ride through that roller coaster of attraction and repulsion. And yet again, she had ended up exactly where she started: alone, in her own apartment, crying her eyes out,

It wasn't that she wanted it to be this way. Nor even that it appealed to her. She wanted the same things every woman wanted: To be held, to be touched, and every once in a while, to be told that she was loved. But...he would never do those things...and probably could never do those things...that was just the way he was. She would see him, and he would talk to her, and treat her like a true person...and every once in a while, he might even smile...or rarer still...laugh at one of her jokes. But more often than not..he would be cold, as cold as a glacier wall.

She had tried to forget him, his touch, his burning gaze. She had pulled man after man into her bedroom, for a time, at least, to try to quench the flames....but in the darkness, all of their faces melted into his, and their voices left her dissatisfied and trapped beneath mounds of moving, pounding flesh that held no warmth, no feeling. Invariably, she threw each and every one of them out, discarding them as he discarded her, without so much a word.

Was she growing bitter? She didn't know, but days seemed duller and duller, the more he was absent from her life. The signs of crying stuck to her face, and she splashed more and more water upon it. She couldn't live like this. She couldn't. His face haunted her, his cold, hateful gazes excited her...and, in ways she knew she shouldn't, she wanted him. But as strong as she might try, she knew that he could never be hers. Or anyones. He was wild, and would always remain so. It was the nature of the world...the nature of him, who was her world. After all that he had

The paper slipped away from my fingers, and my muse began to giggle, her brown eyes alight upon the page. "Ooo..from her perspective, hmm?" she purred, teasing me with the glint of a smile. "What next....scenes of passionate lovemaking? Or their wedding day?"

I couldn't help but laugh along with her. "Mmm..sex...perhaps, eventually, they'll earn sex. But marraige? Come on...who wants to hear about a husband who throws his wife out on the street each day?"

Her eyes still twinkling, she bent across the table and stole a quick kiss. "You never know...he could change, almost as much as you did."

"Another story about the love of a good woman, love? I thought you heard enough of that kind of story while we dated."

My muse simply smiled, and kissed my cheek before leaving for her own eternal damnation of work.

Such is the way of women, I suppose.