In my memories the sky is light blue. I'd gotten his shirt off again, and he is walking the five feet to the bathroom, and all I can do is admire the expanse of his shoulders and the fine dark hairs that trail down his spine. His jeans are low on his hips, and I want to pull them off, to run my hand again over that smooth swell of his hip, to tease the already formed treasure trail… (and we were so young then), even thought I've just done that. I want to call out "you're beautiful," and he is, so much so that is raises a lump in my throat, but I don't. even if I'd known that would be the last time I'd watch the sway of his body as he walked away from me, I don't know if I'd have had the courage to way it. But I don't say it, I'm too afraid, and then it's too late. And not the moment but the man has passed, and I'm left with pale blue sky and the knowledge that at least next time, I'll swallow my fear and speak.