The memories come, like gentle bumblebees drawn to a flower, pulled from the past by a stray thought or echo of a feeling. They come, and they drink, but rather than nectar they sip my resolve, my walls I’ve built for protection, the lies I tell myself. The pollen they spread is the longing, the ache, the recognition of that emptiness in the place of what I once had when you were mine.

The memories come, unbidden, reminding me of the sound of your voice, the scent of your shampoo, the taste of your lips. You opened yourself to me willingly and fully. Every part of you belonged to me. Your breasts fit my hands as if they were made for each other, and the memories bring forward the way you moaned as my tongue teased your nipple and my mouth closed over it. Your soft, sweet cunt always grew so wet when I’d whisper in your ear, telling you how I was claiming you or calling you my good girl. I think of your big, round ass, of all the times that I spanked it, and of you begging unashamedly for me to take it. Perfect though your body is, the memories are of so much more. You were clever, funny, smart, and a thousand more things because of your mind. You cared deeply and strongly with a heart unmatched by any other. You gave me it all—your body, your mind, your heart—when you were mine.

I remember the sight of your body arching and quivering, the sound of my name on your lips in supplication and in bliss, the heat of your body and the heat of mine as we sought and found pleasure in each other again and again. The memories keep coming. When you were mine, you told me that you belonged to me, and my pulse raced and my hunger rose. You told me hole by hole that each one belonged to me. You told me that I had your mind as well, as you were as unable to resist me as I was you. You told me, and it was true.

Not all things last. Not all things are meant to be. Life and distance and circumstances and time conspire, and what once was is no more. The memories come, and they bring me what you told me when we knew that things could not go on as they were. I wonder about you now. I wonder if these memories come to you like they do to me. I wonder if it still holds true: the way that you told me that even as things ended you would always be mine.