It was what she was afraid of. "You're not supposed to love me. Not like that." she added."That's not what I meant." he said. "What I meant was that I...love you. I like having sex with you. It's great. And I don't want to stop. But that's not WHY I love you. It's just part OF loving you... now." You'll still go out with girls?" asked his mother."Of course" he said. "When I have time. But I don't think I should have sex with them all though." he said. It sounded like a perfectly plausible thing. She keeps herself busy. And yet. She has growing periods when can’t stand to be around other people. She withdraws to her room to think and be alone, to trace the passing of the years, to fantasize and to wonder what happened to her life, how at one time everything had seemed possible. Along with her romance novels she has started reading poetry from her old college textbooks. One Sunday afternoon she read ‘To His Coy Mistress.’ When she came to the line ‘time’s wing’d chariot hurrying. More

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