Extraordinarily fantastic, wonderful amazing time.

For a while there, I thought you couldn't go home again. I thought the cliche was right. But then I was home, and I was home.

It was a three day vacation to Bill and Sally.

Beautiful.

The weeks leading up to my visit, we talked a lot and hoped there would be a thunderstorm while I was there. In the past, we loved laying in bed, listening to a storm outside. The weather predicted that there would be a storm for us on Friday, the day I was to arrive.

It didn't come until Monday, long after I had boarded my plane back to Los Angeles, and long after she had boarded her plane to meet her best friend for a cruise to Cozumel.

Of course.

I asked her to move out here with me.

She wouldn't.

"It's not the right time." "I want to, but I have to do it when it makes sense for me." "If I'm going to move, I have to move for myself. I can't do it for a relationship."

She's right.

She said "I'm afraid of not being with you. The thought of moving on terrifies me. But I can't come now."

Me: "We haven't truly broken up yet. We're still in love. I can't be in love with you like this and think about you on nights we don't talk. I can't be in love with you and think about how you might be with the guy you're seeing that night."

Her: "Every time I see him, you're all I can think about."

Me: "I can't be in love with you this way, baby. We can't be. We can't have it both ways."

Her: "I know."

Sunday night, as we went to bed, lights off, facing each other, wrapped in each other:

I said "I hope this isn't the last time we ever fall asleep together."

"Me too," she said.

"Babe," I said. "I can't wait for you. I can hope for you, but I can't wait."

The next morning, I dropped her off at Midway airport. I brought her car back to her apartment. Then I caught a cab to O'Hare.

On my flight back to Los Angeles, they sat me next to a lovey dovey couple.

Naturally.