Red Bikini

A red string bikini was all that was left of her. In a hurry to leave she had forgotten to throw it in her bag. It was the bikini she wore on the Fourth of July, when the two of them had sat on the beach all day and night. It was the bikini he took off later that night underneath of the boardwalk.

It was a plain red bikini. It contrasted the sun and the sand while she laid tanning on the beach. Her skin a blend of carefully crafted coffee and hand spun cream. It was a red bikini that she wore well and it remained neatly folded in one of the drawers. It was the only visible memory that she even lived here at one point. She took mostly everything when she left.

A normal person would've thrown it out, not given it a second thought. Not him. He cherished it. He considered it a parting gift. He had always loved that color on her. It could be a red dress, red underwear, red lingerie. It bought out her darkish skin, her dark hair and her light eyes. Red was truly, for him, the color of passion.

It was just a red bikini, it sat neatly folded in of the drawers. There it would sit, waiting for it's owner, waiting for an occasion when perhaps it would be useful one day. It would collect dust, it wouldn't change. It wouldn't ever disappear. It was the only lasting image of their relationship...

A plain...
red....
...bikini.