"Do not seek the because- in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions". I sit here in the back of the poorly lit bar mulling over these cryptic words as patrons come and go. In life,I am always last to leave. In love my speed is no faster. There is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions. These words circle in my whiskey-hazed mind as I feel the atmosphere in the room shift. She’s here; I can feel it. I lift my bleary gaze to prove myself right. She’s here and she’s right on time as always. She’s saunters in gracefully with the soft clicking of high heels in perfect timing with my heartbeat. The breath she has stolen from me forms a vortex around her; making blonde curls dance unrythmically around her shoulders. Tonight she’s wearing a hellfire red gown that knows exactly where to hang on and exactly where to let go. Very little is left to the imagination. She looks very much the porcelain doll with her pale skin, cherry red lips and chocolate eyes. She slides into the booth with the grace and attitude of a poisonous snake; always at attention, waiting to strike. "Hey there, Bette. How’s tricks?" she speaks. If words could caress we’d both be arrested for lewd conduct. We sit for long silent minutes looking at each other. The sudden dryness in my mouth makes me take a deep, long drink of my whiskey, making me scrunch my face in a grimace. She gives a devilish smirk at my antics. I’ll never forget those lips. Those lips that can cause anger, sadness and oh so much pleasure. My mind finally returns long enough for me to retort. "What are you doin’ here?" so much for being witty. "What’s the matter, baby? Aren’t you happy to see me?" a light southern drawl twists and manipulates her words, making her seem sadder than what she is portraying. She pretends to pout when I continue my hard stare. It’s the same song and dance; I’ve heard everything she’s had to say over the past year and nothing has changed. Her eyes are pleading with me but i know better. To give in is to welcome insanity with open arms. I ask her again. "What are you doin’ here?" the sooner she answers the sooner all this will be over. "Oh, Bette. That’s not the way to treat your best girl. Besides," her hand disappears under the table and slowly strokes the zipper of my pants, "I never left,"