*Never Again*

     Five years ago and I still remember it clear as day, to coin
an old cliche.  She was beautiful, awe-striking, but still with
that girlish look to her . . . and those eyes . . . they just
pulled you right in.  It wasn't so much the look of her that
captivated me, it was her aura.  She was just everywhere at once
and swept you right along with it.  The first day, I saw her; the
second, I lusted after her; the third day we were in love.  Nothing
was ever slow with her.  There was so much in her life, but it made
you feel like king that she put it all aside for you.  It was
perfect, she was the one.  After two years of feeling as if I could
never love again, I found her, the one that everyone looks for, but
only a sacred few ever find.  
     I took her to the beach one night.  This was it: I had the
bonfire, some champagne, . . . and the ring.  The ring: the
precious statement in itself, to be presented and just the right
moment.  We sat, we talked, we drank, we talked, we drank some
more.  Then we kissed.  It wasn't the first, not by far, but it was
a kiss unlike any yet with her.  The passion between us was . . .
undescribable, it was my lost chord, the closest to paradise that
I would ever be.  Maybe it was the alcohol, but is awakened an even
deeper feeling for her than ever before.  It didn't stop with the
kiss though.  That initial touch led to more and soon the ring was
forgotten.
     I woke in the morning with a slight headache to find that our
romantic setting from the night before had turned into thrash: a
burnt out fire, an empty bottle of champagne, two crystal wine
glasses laying on their sides in the sand and my sack I had brought
everything in.  The only thing I had left in the bag was the ring,
but when I looked it was there with a note, obviously discovered at
some point by her.  The letter detailed everything she felt about
me; told all about her fears and misgivings, all about her other
lovers as well.  That was the last I saw her, the last I wanted to
see her.