A woman will never ever look sexier, than she does in the weeks after you have broken up with her. Even if by that stage you hated them, or you had developed a passionate indifference towards them, there is always that few times that you see them, and are temporarily consumed by wistful desire.
There is probably a sound evolutionary explanation for this. Frequently they'll cut or colour their hair or something, and they'll spout some tripe about 'needing a change', when ultimately it must be about presenting themselves for the available males. And it gets us. We know it, and all of a sudden we are regretful of the fact that this chance to sow our seed and perpetuate our genes has been lost.
Again, it rarely matters the circumstances behind the split. I've been sure and confident. I've been callous and emotionally absent. I've been conflicted. I've been the heart-broken and fearful. Without fail though, I have always had that late thought. Always noted the angles of their face. Always watched the curve from their hips and around the ass. Always wondered what if.
I know I made the right decision.
But I saw her the other day.
And she looked fucking great.