So after he's washed away, and the clouds part and you look down into his puddle, would you still see him or you?
I've felt this way before too. I realized, it is like shaking an addiction. In that, as does an addict, I was constantly validating my reasoning for keeping this version of me alive. I ended up calling it Substance (feeling) + Robert. "If I made this feeling go away or fought against it, it would mean I was wrong to feel this way, or it would mean I was faking it, or it would mean it wasn't real." I kept telling myself some part of me would be lost. And then there was the nagging thought, what exactly did "normal" feel like. Would I recognize it? The worst was when I'd write about it, and feel a little better getting it out. A few days would pass, and I'd be occupied with something that kept my mind off the situation. Then I'd read what I wrote, and almost feel ashamed, that I didn't still feel that way. Like I was allowing the fucking poem to re-edit me!
I ended up concluding I was fighting against years of programming that told me this feeling was special, supernatural, spiritual and meaningful and those concepts were being fueled by the chemicals of my animal hardware. I found the feeling wasn't rare, it's as transient as the people that inspired it. And I realized it right when I met someone new. Take heart in small improvements, and believe it'll happen again.
I hope you don't take this as me trivializing your feeling, by the way. Just another perspective. Hope it helped.