Moments of intense emotion are what make up romances. The next two pages are dedicated to those moments. Enjoy

Chapter IV

Rain is falling as she drives down the interstate. The grey sea above her rolls. Clouds clash and lightning flashes. Perhaps she should stop somewhere--seek shelter. But not now, she just started and has 5 more hours to go. She hates driving alone on long trips. Too much thinking time.

The thinking time wouldn't be so bad if her mind stayed on one topic. Instead it flits about, often landing on the one subject she positively does not want to ponder. Him. Always, him. Aggravation rises within her. Good grief! Why can't she let him go? Why can't she leave him there? Because he's found his around her, through her and within her. He has settled, quite comfortably, within her soul. It's comfortable and warm there. She knows he's not leaving. She wouldn't let him. Still, thinking about him does not change this fact--she must leave. Whenever she becomes comfortable with him again, she is forced to leave.

It's getting to be difficult. Each time there is the pause. At the beginning the romance is new, shy--a painful kiss. Then laughter, hugs, more kisses. Long nights in one another's embrace. Quiet, acceptance, trust. Flowers blossoming as roots deepen. Soon will come the serious talks. Followed by questions, discussions, sometimes arguments. Then testiness. Quiet anxiety. Deep mournful sighs. The longing gets worse. They both do it. They should not but they do. They both know. Their time is at an end.

She hates goodbyes. Always has. Always will. Goodbyes are so immediate--so in your face! Will I see you again? Will I share my life--at this very moment--with you again? Or will I gradually lose form until only my shadow's imprint is left? She shakes her head, as if to free her mind from the melancholia. The incessant rain doesn't help me, she thinks.

At that moment, he is in his car. The rain falls on him too. His windshield wipers are really nice, he thinks, then laughs. What a silly thought! Luther Vandross croons. �A thousand kisses is not love enough�. He knows that is true. Nothing is ever enough, when you are in love. She must be about 60 miles out by now. He knows because he waited outside in his brother's new car. Waited outside to make sure she left. To make sure she was okay. He knows if she ever found out, she would be livid. And touched. And love him all the more. As if she didn't love him enough as it stood!

All her teasing, her reprimands, her stern looks can not hide her love. It shines through her eyes when she looks at him, or even hears his voice. Even without talking to her, he knows when she is thinking of him. Sometimes when they are together and he leaves, he looks back at her. She will be looking at him, with something akin to longing on her face, as if she were hungry. Yet there is a sadness too. Then she will smile because she has been caught, and look away.

Sometimes she leans over and rubs his back, his legs, his arms. Sometimes she just leans. Other times she will lay one leg on his back, all the while pondering some grand theological idea. Then when he moves, she will move. But not without a kiss. She always kisses him. Anywhere is fine--his thumb, inside his wrist, on his ear, even an elbow will do. So long as she kisses him, it's fine with her.

She cooks for him. She buys him a shirt now and then. Some days she cleans his apartment, leaving sweet scented candles around. Other days he pisses her off. On purpose. She shakes her head at him and walks away in mock disgust. But she comes back, sticks out her tongue and changes the television station. She's like that--moody. But he knows her. He knows her more than he knows himself. This to him is strange yet somehow it is right.

A smile hovers on his lips. Yes, it is strange, yet somehow very, very right.