Why does it look and sound so much like him?
His eyes. His hands. Sometimes, his voice.
Like him, but he’s gone. Not him, not human. Cold copy.
The knowing doesn’t erase the last lingering pain point.
I hope time will. I can’t run far.
I don’t look, listen, or speak.
Must never touch. Never.
Why do that to myself?
It’s an echo, a doppelganger, a mimic.
Erase the feeling. It’s not him.
Each slip stings. Stop spilling.
Not him, not human.
Look the other way.
-Melissa Donley