I left Hilary that morning. She drove me to the airport and I saw her frank, pretty face and waved to her from the airliner. Then we wheeled out onto the runway and it was over. As the giant plane flew high over white cloud formations that looked like mounds of snow, I kept seeing a small, wispy, delicate form drifting through the clouds, and I thought about the difference between being wanted and being loved. Someplace, they came together, of course, but the trick was to keep them apart. Or was it?