He remembered the way the dress had become liquid as it fell from her body, caressing the skin of her breasts and hips. The slight sound of the fabric scratching against her surface was like a whispered word of love shared in the gloom of a bar. He could feel her collar bones, even now. They were a frame from which she hung, and still he could trace their dimensions in his mind when he closed his eyes. There was so much power in that frame.
He thought he was being romantic, but he only thought of her in this way when he was horny.
The memory that he really cherished was how she would eat steaming ramen on the couch, occasionally leaning over to bite him on the neck.He liked to think that she didn’t occupy his thoughts, but there was never much else to think of.