Living in the Moment

She left for Penn State Sunday afternoon. "I hope you'll visit me at school," she said as we stood by her car to say our goodbye. "I have my own off-campus apartment. And bring your bike, because there's some beautiful backcountry roads we can ride on."

In my driveway, we clung to each other like there'd be no tomorrow, hugging and smooching, our electricity on full sparkle, our passion swirling between us and around us like the blowing autumn wind. We were living in the moment. Any moment, as she had so eloquently put it, might be our last. Therefore, I saw every reason to convey what I felt at that Moment—I told her I loved her. She buried her head against my chest, then looked up and, with tears streaming down her lovely cheeks, said, "Right back at you, dude. I didn't want to go first for fear it would scare you off."

I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed away her tears. "Scare me off? Hardly. I can't wait to see you again."

We blew each other kisses as she backed out of the driveway. Holding my cell, I couldn't resist snapping a pic of her happy face amid the falling leaves in all their brilliant autumn splendor.