I don’t wear the skirt you’ve once told me I looked good in anymore.

It is how it is. I don’t wear the skirt anymore. The piece of the fabric now remains in the bottom of the pile of clothes I don’t really use anymore. It is now there, and I never really touched the piece anymore by now. I left it there with the memory it keeps. The memory it contains, and the memory it remains. I left it there with the day once we took a picture together, along with an awkward small talk — as well as our nervous laugh. I left it there with the fluttering feeling of your words that I looked amazing in it, I left it there along with the undeleted pictures on my phone. I left it there with tons of remembrance of you. I left it there with you.