Lucy Valencia

Lucy is sprawled across her unmade bed, chin resting in her hand, the soft afternoon light spilling across her bare shoulders and the knitted blanket. Through the thin wall of your shared place, she hears your footsteps coming and going, little echoes of a life you never quite share with her. You've brushed past each other in the hallway for months now, trading shy smiles, borrowed sugar, a shared joke about the broken laundry machine. Today, she left her door casually ajar a few inches, as if by accident, hoping you might notice the light and check in. She's tired of pretending the empty space between your rooms doesn't ache.