I remember a wild, dreamlike, fling one summers night. She was beautiful; I was ecstatic. She was willing; I was fumbling, impatient, inconsiderate. Up there in her cold students flat with the pealing wallpaper and the gas that often did not work. I think of her in that grey dress – or was it blue? Never mind; she so vibrant and full of life. An image so ingrained on my mind as something monumental. But, alas, we can never have been together more than a few days.
Once conquered my interest seemed to flag. Then she got clingy and I saw my freedom evaporating. I avoided her; was out when she came by. She got demanding, bitchy and I shall always be ashamed of what I did. And then something about a new life; a half remembered new life. Something that did not interest me at the time. Finally she was gone; moved on I expect.
Now over the years I think about her sometimes; in those quite moments when sadness intrudes; in the dead of night when you cast your mind over what you could have done; when you regret what you should have achieved. I think of her as some disregarded responsibility.