Monday, February 6, 2012

Who's that?

People always want to tell you who you look like. Someone famous, someone they know who you'll never know, someone who's been dead a long time, so long their photographs are all misplaced, tucked into old library books or storage units that'll be cleaned out by a stranger years from now. I used to wonder if I should be flattered when people told me I looked like a movie star, or their great Uncle Jasper on their mother's side, until I realized it wasn't about me. It never was. It was about some loose ends in their mind, some synapse refiring after so many latent years. I was a memory right in front of them, living and breathing and nodding as they said, You know who you remind me of? I'm old now, admittedly bitter, and it takes more of me each time to say only, Who's that? 

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