He has nothing to do with you.
It's just my mind playing tricks on me. He's so different, a polar opposite. What little I know about him, anyways. It was just unfortunate that he was wearing his hair like that in that photo, and that unfortunate shirt with those unfortunate colours. It was an unfortunate accident. An unfortunate coincidence. Nothing more. Just unfortunate.
It was just once. Just one photograph. It doesn't mean I'm seeing you in him, meshing you together because you're still here, in me. It doesn't mean I chose him because he looks like you. He does not look like you. He looks like himself.
He has nothing to do with you. This can't have anything to do with you.
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