His life was simple—
bound by action of a duplicate
forced to move with military precision.
Nobody’s asked what he thinks
or how he feels—
I just assumed he was ok with this.

He was stuck living a fake life
in a fake world that isn’t his.
While I wrote
he’d rather be fishing.
When I brushed my teeth,
again,
he thought about that Robert Downy Jr. movie he was missing.

One day,
I saw the sadness in his gray, baggy eyes
and offered a cup of coffee, Sumerian.
When he told me Columbian was preferred,
I relieved him—
told him to explore the reality in which he was born.
  
Before he left
with gleeful abandonment,
I proposed a time to hangout
should he ever be in need of a friend.
He smiled, thankful of my kind gesture,
but simply said,
“I’ve been staring at your face
for a quarter century.
I never want to see you again.”