Porcelain Skin

Whatever you do, don't look in the mirror

She's standing in it again

Not the way I remember her, but the way she would have been if I'd loved her better

And she's smiling

God help me, she's smiling

I know what she is

I've read enough to know that the dead don't come back merciful

They come back as everything you couldn't save them from, wearing the face you were most afraid to lose

The mirror is cold

I press my hand to it, and she presses hers back from the other side

Her palm against mine through the glass

There was always something between us

Maybe a ghost of something real is more real than anything I have left

If you're reading this, please come home