The woman I love once told me she would buy some sexy, high-heeled shoes for me one day.

It was mid-April. In less than a month I would no longer have her. We were in Chicago, at the mall. It was a cold, windy, gray day, not at all a day to think of love or the future or just to be happy to be alive and a part of the world--except for me.

I felt like a king. I had her. She was mine, and that's all that mattered. But she knew something I didn't. Something to ruin us forever.

I held her hand eagerly as we walked from store to store. She laughed at the immature jokes I made regarding the ugly clothes we saw. She sighed at my stubbornness and stupidity when I pointed out how dumb of a series Twilight was, right in front of some of its die-hard fans.

She giggled with glee when she found a perfect pair of sunglasses, blue with a checkerboard pattern. It wasn't her favorite color, but she could overlook that for the design the spectacles held. She thanked my mother when she bought them for her.

We ate at an Arby's. Or maybe a Burger King. It hardly matters. I remember her taking a bag of Runts I had just purchased from the candy store and using the hard suckables to spell out that she loved me on the table. Actually, she didn't write that; she wrote that I loved her. Maybe I should have realized right then that she never loved me and that that message was simply a subtle clue. Or perhaps I'm being paranoid.

Eventually we entered a shoe store. It was huge. She went with my mother and sister to try on different pairs while I observed. I loved watching her trying on a shoe, completely oblivious that I was staring at her the whole time, only to see her look up and notice my gaze was set dead on her. She'd smile, apparently embarrassed, and ask, "What?" when she knew exactly "what." I'd only smile back.

On the way out she noticed a black pair of high-heels. She gasped and ran to them. She held them up and asked the attendant for a pair her size. When the employee came back, she tried them on and strutted around with a grin. After having her test run, she gave them back and grabbed my hand as we left the store. I wondered why she didn't ask my mother if she could have them. She probably thought my mom had bought enough for the day and it could wait. My suspicions were confirmed when she spoke.

"Some day I'm gonna buy some sexy heels and wear them all the time for you." That was before I knew she had cheated on me.

When I found out, I naturally ended it. She told me she wasn't ready for love anyway. Yet less than a month later she was with him, happy, carefree, and completely oblivious to my pain and loss. She had forgotten me, but I'll always remember her.

She didn't break my heart, however. You can't break a heart that still has a willingness to live, laugh, and love. I hold to my memories of her: the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice. The fact that she shared those with another man bothers me, but I still love her. I always will.

One thing does upset me, though. It keeps me up at night, haunts my dreams, and makes me regret not the love that I gave her but the fact that I loved her.

She will never buy me those sexy heels.

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