Her long awaited trip postponed. Days away from him on hold. Comfortably lying on the shag, she lit the fire. Running her fingers through her hair, she hesitated. Then threw it in. The box. The box of desire. The box which reaked of his smell, his touch, his kiss. No longer to her avail, it had to be done. She had to move on. The flame flickering wildly. As wild as were they. The fire burned as did her want, for him. As the fire dimmed so did her need, for him. She stood reminded. She stood up. The view from her window renewed her perspective and reminded her that looking back was never really part of her agenda.