“I don’t know if you, I’m not…I can’t.”  Interrupting my own incoherent explanation, I offered the apology that felt inadequate though it was heartfelt.  “I’m sorry.” 

She stretched her arm and placed her hand on mine.  “I’m not.”

Looking across the table I met her gaze.  We both knew what this relationship meant.  A fulfilling exploration of another and a shared enrichment.  A deep caring that offered the possibility of more.  The possibility never fortified with a promise to be fulfilled.  The possibility that, with some sadness, I was taking away in that moment.

“Do you know how special you are?” I asked her.

Smiling with the familiar teasing that I’d grown to appreciate she remarked, “Of course!  Although it doesn’t hurt for the idea to be reinforced now and again.”

“You are.” I reassured conclusively.

“I’ve realized I’m not ready…and it’s not fair to you or to us.  I have to figure this out first.”  I finished honestly.  This.  The memories that kept flooding my senses.  The urge to not to let go.  Not knowing if I wanted to.

“Helena, your friendship has been…”

 â€œShhh…I know,” she comforted.  “You’re not the only one who enjoyed our time together.”

The emotion of the farewell to what had been an important relationship washed over me.  There was no mistaking the genuine affection I felt for this woman who accepted and wanted me.  As I accepted, wanted and cared for her. 

“Thank you.” Turning the one below hers, I enveloped her right hand with both of mine.  Caressing her gently, we both let go of what we had together.  “I’m glad you came into my life.“ 

“I knew what to expect as I think you did too.  We had a wonderful time don’t you think?” She squeezed my hand lightly, “By the way you can’t get rid of me that quickly as I expect we’ll continue to be friends.”

“Good friends” she ended sincerely. “Just ones who don’t have sleepovers anymore!”

Smiling, I mirrored her sentiment. “I’d really like that too.”

We finished dinner with an ease that distinguished our connection.  She was right, we entered this liaison with knowing minds and hearts.  Still, there was a certain sadness about us.  One we shared while experiencing its end. 

Having taken care of the bill, we walked out to retrieve our cars.  “Tina?”  Helena carefully called my attention.  Angling toward her I raised my eyebrows in question. 

“From one friend to another.”  She paused then went on slowly.  “Funny thing about love. You can’t force someone to feel it.  By the same token you can’t will it to stop.”