Familiar Smiles

There's something about a smile, the way someone's eyes crinkle or completely get lost when they do so, the child like glee you see reflected in their eyes. There's something familiar about it, something homey, something warm. You realize you have seen that smile before. You have turned away from it and blushed already, once upon another time. You see the eyes, not quite the same, not even close, and yet when they crinkle and disappear behind the smile it brings forth memories of a familiar stranger you no longer speak to.
You can't help it.
You look away as soon as the smile begins, because you can tell when it starts: the eyes begin to sparkle with happy abandon, your heart quickens. You look away, stare at the ceiling, the wall, a piece of paper, anything, just not that face, not those eyes, not that smile, not now.
They don't look alike, at all, this new smile and the first one, the one that made you fall in love and broke your heart at the same time; and, yet, it's there. Uncanny similarities making you feel things you hadn't felt in years, the heart begins palpitating as if it already knows of the huge killer crash this will end in, but does it care? No. Because it's pumping again, isn't it? And a pirated love is better than nothing, right?
So what if they're barely a shadow of the one you fell in love with? So what if they aren't your usual type? So what if the standards have fallen so drastically it makes you want to weep on the bathroom floor at two in the morning with a half empty bottle of vodka or scotch in your hand? It's been a horrible year, and they'll do.
They'll do just fine, for the moment, the week, the month.
They smile again, and you tell yourself it's nothing, you try to convince yourself it's just the memories plaguing you. It's nothing, really. It's nothing at all.
Isn't it?