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. 

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