The body remembers more than we give it credit for. Not the repetitive action which comes from a thousand times of doing the same thing. The sharp momentary glimpse you have of another time and another place, but the same texture. Put your fingertips on a surface. Feel the ridges and whorls and ups and downs of your skin meeting the surface. Close your eyes and just feel. And sometime, somewhere when you least expect it, this will come back to you.
It’s inconvenient sometimes. This reminder of the past. The morning after, you stand in front of the mirror and touch your lips, and you do not feel your fingers. You feel his stubble, his teeth nipping your lips lightly, the texture of his tongue on yours, and his lips. You run your fingers down on a bite and you don’t feel the blue and red skin. You feel his hands on your skin, marveling at the size of them, and the gentleness of them. And you see the slight down on the back of his hands, his hair, the faint lines near his eyes.
Another day, you are doing something else. Or maybe you are with someone else. And a moment happens, the images merge.
Hands, hair, lips, stubble, moments, feelings, sensation, touch.