After the mind blowing of an orgasm, I can only remember the fuzzy details. Blond hair, purple shirt, and breasts come back to me at odd moments of the day. I’m haunted for days afterwards by the memory of sex that was better than it could have possibly actually been. Time adds filters to memory; stressing the brightness of hair, blurring the sharp lines into curvy perfection and contrasting colors till they become deeper than any artist’s palette. Sex ceases to have been an act and becomes an event that will wake you up years later in a hot sweat and a panting breathe.