The scars do not populate the inside of my sleeves.
My heart is not stapled back together with the aim of a blind man with Parkinson's disease.
My sister has never seen me cry and we laugh as I think of hanging Christmas ornaments instead of myself.
She says she loves me.
She says she likes my stupid jokes. She says she can't imagine a world where we aren't together for the rest of our lives.
But in a world in which I never knew your name, I still somehow remember how you taste.