When you think the memories have all gone, when you think that you have moved on, you are reminded, with a kick to the chest that it is not entirely so. When dopplegangers of people you used to know appear, walking through your life unaware of the effect they're having on your rapidly beating heart, you know, without a doubt, that you are nostalgic, even in the tiniest bit, for the days which you still call the best of your life.
That was you, today, a stranger on the train, reminding me of who you used to be, from the part of the hair to the shape of the hands and the colour of the coat, she was like a memory manifest of those late days, when you and I knew we knew each other, but pretended to be strangers nonetheless. Before you changed completely. I hoped, as I was pushed too close to the other people on the train that she would look up and I would see you staring out into the carriage mosh pit, eyes dull and bored until you caught sight of me. But alas, a stupid hope. I knew it wasn't you, even though I didn't see her face at all to confirm it for me. There are some things you just know, as inherently as you know death. Because all things die in their time - even friendships. The two which became one disentangled once again.