Betty.  You fight for your life underneath all the clothes that have begun to lose their meaning, But I think you are the most meaningless of them all.     You have my name written across your torso but you do not belong to me, Not anymore. You belonged to a girl that I no longer know,  A missing girl,  A dead girl.  For she has not existed for a time that is even unknown to the one that has replaced her.   As I look at you, Betty, with your unique beauty and charm I feel no connection to you. You conjure no memories.  No sentimental value despite how long you have existed alongside me.  Were you meaningful once to my predecessor? Where did you come from?Who sent you to her? How old are you really?   Who knows— dead men tell no tales after all.    I can’t wear you,Because putting you on feels like I’m slipping into her decayed skin. It is unnatural, disturbing. A betrayal to the little girl that perhaps once loved you. I can’t wear you, you don’t mean anything to me— yet I still keep you. In fact, I can’t let you go.   Your existence is evidence; proof that the dead little girl once existed. You hold the last of her pure, carefree aura and because of that I can’t let you go.   I miss her even though I do not remember her, And I do not even remember when I had begun to forget.   It startles me to see her on video, to hear her small voice and loud laughter; To see photographsof her lost memories.  They, like you, are proof she was real.   What happened to her?   Betty— Do you know?