And so the cycle begins again: no waste in Gaia's seasons. Turning, moving, passing on; every little death nourishing another life, each end fostering a fresh beginning, old to new, old to new, and so it goes, the past giving way to the future.

My lover held me in her arms as sorrow's shroud engulfed me. Silently, protectively, her strength, her warmth, her sweet embrace restored me to a state of grace, her tender care revived me. Those days, long days, sad days turned by, brown to grey, grey to black, day to night, light to dark, a hollow, heavy emptiness that gnawed at me, pawed at me, wrestled with my senses, never let me rest, never seemed to care. But through it all my lover held me in her arms, held me tight, swore her love, kissed me through my endless night. And so it goes, and so it goes.

My lover held me in her arms. Her beauty was luminous, like a candle flickering hope in a darkened room. Silently, she stroked my cheek, her fingers grazing gently over my salty tears, caressing them into my skin, forcing them to disappear through the strength of her love. She cradled me like a baby, rocking me gently, her palm rested so tenderly on my face.

"I love you," she said. "I always will."

She leaned over and kissed me, her sweet lips on mine, the gentlest, longest, softest kiss I've ever known, like a butterfly in the morning breeze. I felt her breath caress me as she brushed slowly over my face, delicately grazing her lips against mine, nuzzling at my cheek, tongue extended, stroking, stroking, downwards, drawing her body closer to me, her kisses enriching me, her love engulfing me.

Rachmaninov's Danse Orientale sailed in the background, the andante cantabile flowing, undulating, its simple oriental motifs floating slowly into the air. At one instant a funeral march, the next a solemn dance, promising but never quite managing to crystalise into a free-willed, lively, spirited paean to joyful living, then slipping elegantly back into its sensuous, rhythmic, ambiguous melody. Ruth's embrace took its lead from the beauty of the music, slow, languid, lavishing love on my body.

At first I could not reciprocate, could not enfold my will into hers, could not meld our desires. Ruth sensed this and continued to press gently, reviving my spirits piece by piece, moment by moment. Her hand stroked my breast through the thin cotton of my gown, tenderly, almost platonically, the thrill of its touch more to do with the intimacy of grief than the excitement of lust. My nipple hardened to her touch, reaching out to her, calling silently to her. I sighed. I cried. And so it goes.

My lover held me in her arms. Oriental magic filled the room, Rachmaninov's spell enchanting us, we sad lovers. As her kisses nuzzled at my neck I glimpsed the candlelight through the brumal, golden haze of my wine glass, the flame contorted in crazy, flickering arabesques, obscure and ambiguous, now green, then blue, then a deepest red. Ruth sat up and looked at me, her eyes staring into mine, their unfathomable depths concealing everything about her but that she loved me, hiding every trace of her that she wanted to remain hidden. She smiled, enigmatically, a sad smile, a loving smile. Kissing my cheek, she began to plant kisses all over my face, one on the other, cascading, a hectic fanfare travelling up from my jaw to my eyebrows. She stopped and smiled again, her forehead on mine, and slowly lowered her mouth to my eye, caressing it, drawing my salty tears into her, kissing them away. The sweetest moment. I arced my back and tentatively pushed myself towards her, sliding my head backwards so that her mouth slipped downwards to mine. We kissed, a proper kiss, our mouths embarked on an embrace rather than simply touching. I loved my love.

Ruth continued her osculatory journey across my features, tripping over my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw and slipping towards my ear, resting there, sending ripples through my body; her tongue spoked out from there, describing a fractal line, long and sweet, from my ear to my chest. Her hand pulled at the bottom of my nightgown and rested on my thigh, the touch of her palm thrilling through me. I raised my bottom and allowed her to ease my gown upwards, over my hips, over my breasts, up to my shoulders, and then off. I lay before my love, naked and more vulnerable than I had ever felt. Please, I thought, please.

My lover held me in her arms, looking softly at my breasts. She ran her fingers over them, her palm flattened against first one, then the other, pressing. The music reached that aching moment when the melody reappears on the piano, like a rippling cascade of water falling endlessly, tears into a pool, emotion heightened to a pitch of perfection. And then. And then a moment of silence. Before. Before Ruth lowered her mouth and took my breast between her lips, teeth gnawing fondly on my erect nipple.

I needed her then more than I have ever needed anyone, needed her love more than anything I have ever known. Her embrace grew more fervent, her ministrations more forceful, yet still dignified, almost reverent. Her hand was roaming over my body, feeling the slight swell of my stomach, the change in muscle tone as it gave way to my thigh, running downwards to my knee and upwards again, stroking the downy skin of my inner thigh. I thrilled to her touch. My love.

She found my pussy. Rested there a moment. Her hand on me was delicious, the strength of her personality suffusing her touch, her love inculcating itself through the slight, perfect strokes of her fingertips on my receptive folds. I had never felt less turned on, but neither had I known anything more erotic. Despite myself, my pussy was soaked. Her fingers danced around me, stroking up and down my labia, easing into my vagina, rasping upwards towards my excited and by now prominent clitoris. I didn't want to do this, but I wanted it more than anything in the world.

I lost track of time. Moments dragged on, hours sped by; seconds stretched out, the evening evaporated. My candle, shimmering through the autumnal haze of my wine, reached the bottom and began the final, demented dance which heralds its imminent demise. The Danse Orientale had long vanished into the world of memories, ghostly strains flitting through my mind, refrains insinuating themselves on my psyche. My mind was racing, my body heaving. Ruth's fingers expressed her love as they stroked, cajoled, excited my hot pussy, my clitoris experiencing raptures whenever a finger went near it. My body began to separate from my mind, taking on a life of its own, my emotions concentrating on the experiences raking through it.

I thought of Jamie then. My wonderful, shy young man, my charming, beautiful and kind Jamie. Fiancé in fact, although he didn't live long enough for me to get used to that expression. I thought of Jamie and tears welled up within me; tears of sadness, tears of joy; a dance of death, a danse orientale. I would always love him, I knew that, I would always feel his presence; but at that moment I knew I had to let go. I knew that life gives way to life; I knew that a life once lived, however briefly, can never be undone, and that my Jamie would live forever.Andante cantabile: slowly, flowingly. Things change. And so it goes.

My lover held me in her arms. I sensed a climax building up inside me, taking root deep within, preparing to unleash itself on my body. And I began to cry. All my pent-up emotion erupted as my body collapsed into a climax, shooting arrows of pained, guilty pleasure into every extremity of my being; from deep within my womb a thunderball began to explode outwards, rasping down my thighs, my knees, my calves into my feet and my toes; raking upwards into my stomach, churning it into paroxysms of emotion, I know not which; and onwards to my breasts, engulfing my sensitised nipples with euphoric waves of pleasure; before passing to my neck, leaving there a tide of flushed emotion and then sweeping upwards onto my face.

Reddened, hot and agitated, my face exposed my inner feelings as weeks of emotion were expulsed from my body in one monumental tide. I screamed louder than I would ever have thought possible, an elemental wail which seemed to emanate from every cell, every pore. My body shaking, my heart pulsing, my mind throbbing I gave myself over to my emotions. And my loves, living and dead. As it goes.

I have no idea what I thought at that moment. Anything and everything. Guilt, pleasure; happiness, misery; excitement, despair. Who knows. It was a cathartic moment, I know that, probably the most intense I will ever experience. My eyes were screwed shut, I noticed, and tentatively I opened them. The candle had guttered to a stop, an optimistic trail of smoke meandering upwards from it into the air. Light still permeated the room, though; and through a gap in the curtains I could see the sun beginning to rise as a new dawn settled comfortably over us; its pale hues were trickling into the room, tentative, bright and fresh, hopeful like a crisp, spring morning. My lover held me in her arms and smiled at me. I smiled back.

"I love you," I said.