I remember your lips on mine. The way you thanked me after the first time we were together – both of us breathless and panting, sweaty and sated. I remember the way my clothes always seemed to disappear under your bed. We laughed, afterwards, extracting my clothes from the darkness below the light we had just created. I remember the way you tasted like whiskey and beer and utter oblivion. I miss the sounds you made when you gave yourself over, my name escaping your mouth like it was the only thing holding you to reality. How can anything, anyone, compare to that passion? I still remember you.