She still finishes my sentences sometimes, in exactly the way she always used to. I still know, without needing to ask, exactly when something is genuinely bothering her beneath whatever she's actually saying out loud. Ten years apart, it turns out, wasn't quite long enough to fully sever whatever specific, wordless thread had connected us since before either of us had any words at all.
My Twin Sister Died in a Car Crash Ten Years Ago — Last Monday, a Dental Office Called Asking Me to Come Pick Her Up
