The First Thing He Remembers


Her hair is always the first thing he remembers. Dark brown, thick and well-kept but lively with gentle waves and curls.

He begins to follow the rhythmic bob and weave of the locks. It’s all he can remember now, though he presses on, hoping her portrait unfurls.

His eyes lead him down the length of her tresses whilst he stays in her wake. As her back smoothly tapers, the hair strands finally reach their tail end.

Now it is coming back to him and he remembers more and more. He finds familiarity in the cadence of her hips as they lower and ascend.

Now she begins to turn and his gaze quickly looks up. Her quiet footfall pauses and he no longer guides his legs as he is drawn by her warm pull.

He attempts to see the nature of her eyes to try and know her truths as well as his own. They lock for an alluring moment, but nothing further before she starts her slow reversal.

Her hair is always the first thing he remembers and always the last thing he sees.

Ramble on,


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