I thought about that, and the months passed. I saw Helen often, but I could not quite bring myself to push our friendship back into that physical realm where it had dallied at the end of winter, and I thought that I had world enough and time to think of such matters later on. I was, of course, quite wrong. In the autumn, Helen found a new boyfriend, a sweet man who clearly adored her, and though she continued to offer me her friendship, I saw that I had in some very fundamental way missed my chance. The man she had found was less difficult than I, less demanding, more devoted to her; I look at him and I look at myself and I am reminded how very sensible Helen is. These days, I see her once every couple of weeks, and though we are always glad to see each other, she is not at the center of my life; I miss her terribly. I am forever struggling not to be angry at Helen and her boyfriend. I have found boyfriends and girlfriends of my own, but as I am not sensible like Helen, they have mostly appeared and disappeared like dots on a disk of snow. Sooner or later, perhaps, I will really fall in love with one of them, and that one will last. I suppose that someone will be the one who cares, and for whom I care; but this is scant comfort right now. Helen gave me so much time, more time than I could possibly have deserved, even under the circumstances. I know that. I am the one who wasted it.

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