I saw an image online of a lace dress draped over a chair, one strap sliding off the seat, the hem pooling on the floor. I stared at it for a long time. The fabric looked fragile, the kind of thing you handle with care and hang up immediately. Someone hadn't.
I reverse google searched the image and found the photographer and emailed her. She showed genuine admiration for my work, and that led to coffee, then a friendship. We were careful with each other.
She hinted a couple of times that she also liked the way I looked and asked why I don't like to mix friends and romance. I always told her that friendship is more important to me because in my experience, that kind of relationship lasts longer.
A couple years later, I came home to my Venice apartment after a friend's mother's birthday, too much wine in me. She was already on my roof watching the sunset. It was a chilly night. She looked up right after the sun went down and asked if she could kiss me. I was lonely. Her lips were warm.
After that day she did not want to be my friend anymore.
I still see the dress sometimes. I was the one who left it on the chair.