I look in the mirror every day, at least once. The person I see isn't me.
He isn't anyone.
If it wasn't in a mirror, I'd think he's just another shattered person, just going through the motions of being alive. Even then, just barely.
It makes me sick.
It's not that I don't know who I am, or rather, who I want to be. It's that I can't be Him anymore. Time, like a river, only flows in one direction.
Some days, I can feel my being try to tear itself apart from trying to exist in two different times and places. He's upriver, rooted in place, while I'm carried downriver with the rapid current. The tether that binds me to him gets tenser every month, every week, every day. I don't know what I'll do when it finally snaps...
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