Mark sits on the couch, playing the game she gave him.
At first, he catches a whiff, a tickle, the shadow of a memory.
Slowly it grows stronger, shadows become images
from months ago.
It's real, it's in the room with him, as if she's sitting there next to him,
like when she'd be driving them home in her car.
Tests the shirt, the undershirt, the pants.
Finally he finds the source, in his socks.
That she washed for him three months ago.
Suddenly the end of their relationship
made perfect sense.