The ghost
Empty girl
A spectator of greater events ( our narrator. Protagonist)

What it is to die inside but to keep breathing. It's like watching life but only catching the  end of all things; the greatest romances but with every suitor you become so aware of the approaching end. You watch for it, bite your nails over it, rip your cuticles to shred the golden air you breathed only days ago, filling it with noxious silence and this oppressive somnalence;
And hell
to return to You, the real you, feels like clawing your way out of a well
You can't recognize your hands
These pinched phalanges are cracked with age lines but you are so **** young

Your hands are the hands of another.