I know that you were born in a room with hay instead of cotton blankets, and you envy with your tongue the way that I had silk and gold for the same reasons you had dust and debris

and even then, at 4 days, I should have known better than to let the pale softness of my skin sink into what you could have shared with me. I knew that

it could not possibly be an adequate design to have you waiting for so long
for me
to
remember that we had almost the same beginnings and
the truth is glaring.