Something isn't right
We're in the back of my car and she slides my hand up her shirt.
Her skin feels strange and unfamiliar
beneath my fingertips and her breath feels dangerous against my bruised neck.
Her hair feels foreign tangled in my hands.
Her lips feel wrong pressed against mine.
She says my name, but it sounds nothing like the way that you used to say it.
She isn't you.
She can never be you.