Maybe the reason
That you don’t speak to me
Anymore,
Is that you
Are not you.
Perhaps you are but a copy,
And the real you
My you
Is buried within me.

Because every night
When I lay my head down,
You fill my thoughts.
And every time
Someone asks me
What I like about this world,
Your laugh erupts
Into my ears.

But when I sliced myself open
It was not your golden hair
That I saw,
And when I look
Into the mirror
There is no trace of you
That smiles back.