I’m not usually the type to sweat the things that are out of my control or miss the people who’ve moved on. Though as I’ve said before, if you feel the need to assert something ’bout yourself, what you’re saying ain’t exactly the whole truth.

Looking out my office window into the fishbowl world, I saw a girl who looked straight up like Melissa. (Have I mentioned Melissa my sistah moved to Erie here? Because she did, “She’s Leaving Home” style. Okay, maybe not that dramatic.) She had the same long lithe body and Melissa’s London bob with bangs haircut. And I never saw her face, so the illusion was complete and subtly heartbreaking

because I realized how much I miss her when I felt my legs push my whole heart towards a doppelganger and a disappearing smile spread across my face and my hand reach for the doorknob that would open the door that would open up a memory of my sister coming to visit me at the cinemas to just talk and hang out, or see a movie, or maybe get some brotherly support. I was standing stranded between my chair and the door when I remembered I needed to turn around and sit down; there wasn’t anyone outside who would smile at the sight of me.

Which is to say recently I’ve been the kind of person to miss the people who’ve moved on.