It was just a simple television program; but for nine weeks; the gut wrenching dialogue between its characters and the white-hot sex appeal of its leading man left me catatonic, a hopeless, spellbound disciple for its nightly half-hour drama.  My obsession was other-worldly, fueled mainly by its handsome lead actor's dazzling portrayal of a caring, tortured therapist, torn by a desire for a woman he could not have.  Night after night, I watched him.  With steepled hands and piercing gaze, Dr. Paul Weston ministered to his patients with compassion and empathy.  But with each new episode, the sadness in his eyes betrayed him, revealing the fissures forming in his heart and the gradual unraveling of his personal life.  A riveting irony of epic proportions, the good doctor was never quite able to heal himself.

The give and take, the "will they" or "won't they" between Paul and his forbidden love was a masterful dance, the sexual tension taken to a crescendo by the brilliant acting of the smoldering and sensual,  Gabriel Byrne.  His delivery of lines was heart-breaking and subtle; his character spoke loudest when he said nothing at all.  With the down-casting of eyes, the hesitating response, he left me breathless with anticipation, waiting patiently for the moment of his heart's revelation. When it arrived, the confession was so quiet, it was almost feather-lite, but his emotions were so intense, his vulnerability so raw, that its effect on me was deafening. As the weeks went by, I became obsessed with the show and consumed with thoughts of the actor,  I was, indeed, “touched” by this poet, this devastatingly handsome man. In short, he rocked my world.