It was a warm September day that Lisa's heart was broken. The last of the summer's warmth lingered in the air, clashing desperately with his cold words. Charlie had been blunt about it, the alcohol in his system not softening his delivery of the words: "Lisa, I'm not in love with you". It was then that Lisa decided that she would no longer wear her heart on her sleeve. When she looked in to his eyes, this man who she had loved for two years, two years of wasted pining and crying over, she knew she could not go through this again. He apologized, of course, though for what she did not know. It was not his fault that he had no feelings for her other than friendship. It was her fault that she had misinterpreted his acts of kindness - those soft smiles, the gentle grip of his hand around hers - as acts of tenderness. She spent a day grieving. A day was enough. Then she bundled up all her feelings for Charlie, put them in a little imaginary box, and pushed it deep, deep down into the depths of her soul, never to be looked at again. She would not make the same mistake again.