You wanted to have lunch. We never did lunch. I looked at you and wondered what was different this late afternoon. We sat in a corner. I felt your foot touch mine. I moved, and you followed. I felt you stroke my leg. Like a feline playing with its prey. You talked, oblivious to the current your touch invoked in me. The world was blind to our games. It was our secret. Six months later, we sat at the coffee shop. We no longer did lunch. I stretched my leg and felt your left foot. You said, "Excuse me." That, was the moment when love ended.