There is a reason I call you that. You have taken her name, but you are not her. She is dead. You may live her life, but you are a fraud.
You see, she would never have wanted me to suffer like this, nor would she have desperately tried to shove me away while relying solely on drugs, alcohol and friends that you will eventually do the same with.
You are a poison that I was taught to keep my distance from, one that I had thought I would never reach me. Well, I was wrong. Your poison surrounds me now.
If I had just taken this poison like she did, you wouldn't seem like such a thief after all. But taking this poison would have meant losing my identity too, and I was so painfully aware of it.
Now the regret fills me, just as I wish your poison had while I still had the chance.
She isn't just dead, you killed her and took her identity with you. Maybe if I had done the same as her, I would be happy and blissfully unaware right about now.
But now, because of you, I feel lonely night after night. And each night, an image of her fills my dreams.
At least , you would like me to believe it's her, and I fall for your illusion every single time.
I let you hurt me once again, just holding on to the thought, "it really could be her this time." But it never is, and it never will be.
And even though you stole every aspect of her life- her face, her name, her family, and just about everything else- you will never ever be her.
Why? You may look like her, but you forgot a few things; her personality, her soul, and me.
And that is why you'll never be her, dear identity thief.