Most Helpful Guy
I was sitting with her in the local park, on a bench on the hillside. It was mid-May, and the air was fragrant with the scent of growth and life. It was in the evening, maybe five o'clock in the evening, and the sun tinged the skies with an orange hue. We sat there side by side, holding hands, and laughing; then a silence came, and distant birds echoed their sentiments through the trees. So I turned to her, and grabbed her cheek gently. I can still remember how soft and smooth and warm it was. I can remember the soft look in her deep, chocolate eyes. I took my chance, and never looked back. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I remember the taste of her lips and the light scent of her hair in that sun-soaked moment. It was the first of so many kisses, and always they carried that moment forward however brief, across time.
I loved her more than anything this world could offer, and she felt the same way about me. But she must have forgotten what that felt like, at some point. I lost her not so long ago. I try to forget that moment, but I fear I never will; worse still, I fear I will never have it again with another.