It's not you, I whisper to myself,
The smile, the eyes, the hair.
This digitally rendered face, mocks me, smiling.
Locked in a perpetual state of happiness.
It can't be you, because I don't know who you are.
Not anymore at least.
Yet it is too late, you have already left your mark,
Burning in my memory, seared into my soul,
Like a farmer branding his cattle.
You are now but a painful reminder,
That my happiness does not belong to me,
But belonged with you, stuck with your memory.