You asked what life will look like in ten years...

We’ve had more careers than sexual partners (alright, that’s a bit of an exaggeration) but I’m still not sure we’re in the right place. Your body shuts down at the taste of shellfish, but it’s forgotten all the places he hurt us. We left, by the way. You’ll get to that part soon.

You’ll visit seven countries within four years but won’t come close to learning the languages we swore we'd know by now. You’ll cry sometimes over nothing, but there’s a little angel with four legs who’s been around for a while and she helps. You will move every single year until “home” is an abstract term you’ll assign to whoever you feel most yourself with.

Sometimes your hands won’t feel like they’re yours — they’ve lived too many lives. They’ll communicate with the Deaf, they’ll write a thousand pieces of work, they’ll knead homemade dough and feed people we love, they'll develop early onset carpel tunnel. They’ll grow more vascular, with knuckles like mom’s. They’ll hold rejection letters, books, babies, bouquets, wedding rings, warm hands, cold hands, and a couple sets of dead hands. You’ll look at your palms and try to remember all the interpretations about our deep-set broken lines. It’s probably best we forgot.

I slip into dissociative moments when I can’t believe I’m you and that we made it here. I think you'll like what I've done with us.