In the dark, in his closet, your sweaters, t-shirts and pants. Your dress.
All clothes dry and washed, neatly tucked together.
His memory of your smile, lively laughter.
How he knew you liked just that boy.

The boy remembers you, tells somebody else about your crush on him.
People mention your name, pass your notice by, and are stricken by the notion of having talked to you. You came suddenly into a world of noise, and then you left by silence.

In the dark, in his closet, your smell. Lingers for a moment.
A mirror, a dream, your reflection when he searches his eyes.
Who knows where you went, Lucy,
Your voice is still here.

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