Author's Note: I was a young girl, and I was very much in love. Call it what you please, but in my heart, he was the only person who mattered the most to me. In the time that I loved him, and in the months that I grew to know him, I did not suffer one regret. Yet even then, in the depths of my youthful being, I endured the inevitability of love's extinguishment. This is what I learned from that time in my life. These are the words that poured forth from my now experienced being, yearning to speak of the only time that mattered, and that time was . . .



"If I should die this very moment . . .

I wouldn't fear

For I've never known completeness

Like being here

Wrapped in the warmth of you

Loving every breath of you

Why live life from dream to dream?

And dread the day . . ."

—Moulin Rouge

Chapter One: The Impossible

…Sophomore Year…

SHE COULDN'T BELIEVE how much it hurt. When was the last time she had ever experienced any kind of pain like this? She sat there, as calmly as she could, amongst the clamorous voices. She bowed her head down towards the surface of her desk and rubbed the moisture seeping from her bloodshot eyes.

They were just words, words that were a whisper in the wind, a rumor unconfirmed, a possibility that for some reason seemed all too real for her. And yet, they felt real enough, so sharp and blunt at the same time that they ran right through her side.

She was surprised to find that she wasn't bleeding yet. The wound in her heart and the gash in her soul felt deep enough to be real. She even touched her white-colored shirt to see if there was a stain from an internal hemorrhage.

She sat there, breathless and stunned. What could she say? How was she supposed to react to news such as this? She didn't love him . . . did she? —No, she couldn't. The thought was inconceivable to her: forbidden, unwanted.

He was twenty-five-years-old, precisely ten years older than her. And he was her teacher. She could never fall for her creative writing teacher . . . could she? Did I?