He was a poor replica of you,
blurred and roughened and wrong but his voice,
was enough like yours that it cracked me in two.
Not because I missed you, or still love you,
But because it reminded me of the girl I used to be.
And somehow he felt like an insult to everything we were.
Bootleg love that bordered on sacrilegious.
As if I had torn a temple down, hurled a brick through the window of a church.
But somehow that sin reminded me that it wasn’t too late,
To become who I used to be.
That girl is still there.