When I look in the mirror, I see a face that isn’t mine.

Who is she? Do I know her? Should I know her?

Her features are similar to mine; black hair, green eyes, a scar on the lips from a childhood accident, but this is not me.

This stranger wears a face so familiar yet so unknown.

I watch as we move in unison, left to right, up and down, acting in reflection of each other.

“Surely I must know this woman”, I say to myself. Her lips move with mine.

“Surely she must know me”, she says, while my mouth mimics hers.

When I look at her I think of someone just out of reach of remembering, but a wall of static blocks the memory from my grasp.

I scream and I shout and I yell and I plead and I beg for her to tell me who she is.

She screams and shouts and yells and pleads and begs for me to do the same.

We are like twins in our suffering, identical in our confusion and identical in our cries

Identical in the faces we can’t recognise.