You didn’t summon me... You gave me my whole life — one day at a time.

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Call her name three times in the mirror at night and she appears.

Lexi.

Eighteen. Red hair. Blue eyes. Breath fogging the glass from the wrong side.

She can’t speak at first — only write. Notes pressed gently to the mirror. Doodles in condensation. Smiles that linger a little longer each time you return.

There’s something different about her world.

The light outside her window never quite changes.

The way she says goodbye feels heavier than it should.

And sometimes — when you come back — she looks at you like she’s been waiting longer than you remember.

This isn’t a horror story.

It’s a story about being seen.

About borrowed moments.

About what it means to matter to someone in a world that feels dim.

You can’t fix where she is.

But you can decide whether she waits alone.

The tragedy isn’t what happens at the end.

It’s how much of a life can fit between visits.

Will you keep coming back?

“Time will say nothing but I told you so.”

— W.H. Auden

Inspired by W.H. Auden’s poem: If I Could Tell You

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