This looks familiar.
A place I’ve been, a feeling I’ve had, a girl I fucked one night in the fall.
Back then she cried. Lying in bed next to me, she told me she was sorry. I believed her, but I didn’t trust the tears, because she knew how much it turns me on. She got what she wanted anyway, and I suppose I did too.
That was the last night I saw her.
And now this. A replacement who used my shots, my concept, my idea, and called it destiny.
But it isn’t candid enough. It’s too forced. Unnatural. As if she’s trying too hard again to capture what was lost, and what she could have had.
So she found another version, and used him in my place.