When I look in the mirror I see a girl who is dead.

It hurts to see her there, features warped and ever so slightly offset. The pain is sickening and sharp, but I am glad to see her anyways. Better she be trapped in the mirror than in my nightmares, although I know now that to be stuck in both is entirely possible.

It’s been 231 days since she died, and yet she will not stop following my every move, every thought, every moment.

Today is my first birthday without her. Our first birthday without her.

I will turn 15 and she will not, and as the years go by my age will go up and up and up and hers will stay exactly the same as it was the day she died.

God, I miss her. I miss her laugh and her smile, her plethora of catchphrases and never ending sense of humor.

I never really believed in a God, a belief my other half shared, but I seem to find myself praying to whoever or whatever will listen. Pleading that, against all odds, I was wrong. That there is something up there, and within that something, someone.

When I look in the mirror, I can almost see a girl who is dead, a girl who shares my face and personality and yet nearly nothing else, nearly enough.

She is gone, my sister is gone, my twin is gone, my other half is gone. It’s just her memory that remains, a secret triplet that lives only to remind me of what does not.

I can’t help but blame myself. Guilt is an irrational thing, that I know, but I always wanted to be the older one. I take it back now. I take everything back.

I look in the mirror and see a girl who wishes she was dead.