"Do it again!" she squeeled.

That peal of laughter always tickled me down to my toes. It was an absolute spring of joy. The remembrance alone brings a smile to my lips. I had a way of touching her with just the right pressure, in just the right spot which delighted her. It wasn't a lovers touch, but some cross between a tickle and a caress, and a visible jolt of pleasure would work its way through her body. She always asked me to show her that trick, and no matter how many times I did, she couldn't duplicate it herself, nor find anyone else who could touch her that way.

I asked often to be mine, but received a hug and a kiss as a reply. She just smiled in her quirky way, light behind her eyes trying to tell me something, but never quite making it. She appreciated my adoration, but teased me saying if I could teach her that trick, we could run off and be together forever. We would watch the sea from the high cliffs and I would be dizzy. My angel, but not my angel.

The weeks and months passed, and I never did find what she was searching for. I just felt the distance between us. Even as I professed my love, the gulf grew wider. Eventually she was gone. There are days when I would wake, sad, longing, feeling that missing part of my life, her name a whisper upon my lips and harken to as close to heaven as I had ever gotten.