The doppelganger.

It's been two years, so I guess she made an impression (he typed with a playfully sarcastic smirk).

I recently spent a day cruising throughout the city, something related to my job, when on the streetcar I saw her.

...Wait. No. But she could have been her sister.

The asymetrically cut, short blonde hair. The huge, dark sunglasses. The slightly zoftig, womanly bod. An apple butt. Her round face. The tattoos. Even the freeflowing print sundress and the way she smiled in my direction as I looked upon her.

And, as a coup de grace, the fact that she was queer. I hadn't noticed her partner, but as she left the streetcar, the sensual kiss that she gave the delightfully geeky, close-cropped brunette with horn-rimmed eyeglasses as they parted for the day.

Her entire image, her entire vibe, was Shayne.

Yeah, it's been two years. And yeah, she's in an entirely different life and world now, and I heartfelt-mean-it when I say, "Hey baby, go you."

Maybe I shouldn't miss her so much. After all, it's also true that had her moments of being utterly arrogant, condescending, closed-minded, and petty. She broke a pretty important promise and, true to form, found a way to justify it to herself to do so. I should probably be pretty pissed.

But, you know, one difference we have is that I'm not really one to amputate a limb just because I found that the ring I was wearing didn't completely work for my ensemble. Part of the intimacy that we shared was how I watched her suffer, deeply, with how she wrestled with her sense of identity, path, and voice in the world. Perhaps it was because of how she suffered and struggled, not despite of it, that I initially began to fall for her. And it would have been idyllic for me to simply remain as a friend and soundingboard for her in her life.

And all these thoughts came rushing back into me this past week when I saw that lookalike on the street, rushing back like a heavy wave that had long been back out to sea.

It makes me smile to feel the tightness in my chest still, to know that to see her virtual sister as a passerby make me stop, gaze, and remember. Like it was yesterday.

Yeah. I love and miss you, Pix. Still. And I'm ok with admitting it. Still. Yeah, yeah, I know I "shouldn't." All that get-over-it (whatever) and go-forward (I have) and giving-you-power (yeah, you wish) crap. Fine. Just call me crazy.