I look for little pieces of you in everyone. It's as if you died. And certain individuals seem to have consumed your ashes. And I find these people with the sole purpose to resurrect that feeling of being with you again. To feel alive.

The boy in my physics class who looks like you is the reason I hate mornings. It may not be the real you but I swear he took your laugh straight from our last phone call.

The story of Narcissus reminded me of all the times you got caught up in your own reflection and told me you were a god. You were my god. I worshipped you.

The boy I tried to like started using the same expressions as you and I suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn't his fault, most girls would love a guy who spoke to them like they were in the sixteenth century. Trust me, I did.

And I run from these people, maybe in hopes of forgetting you along the way. Maybe in hopes that I'll run right back into you. To hear you laugh again. And smile like the whole world ought to be taking your picture. And for you to say "How art thou?" But I know that the only thing I'm running away from, is the little piece of you that has become a part of me. I don't know how to escape you, and even if I did, I doubt that I would.

-m.k.