your golden double

All day he follows you like a tacky song that won't let your mind alone so you find yourself humming it in the car, the office, the street: your golden double whose presence you feel somewhere behind you as if about to call your name and hand you the winning lottery ticket or take you away to a life of workless pleasure by a warm pool in the sun.

You don't speak of it to anyone, not your wife, your lover or your friends because it would be like admitting you believe you've come from a world of angels and unicorns and this planet whose tiny acres you shuffle across is only a place of mistaken banishment, your life the shadow life of one twin split from the other.