Our blood is alphabet soup. Poured from the same vessel. Symbols glommed together that mean nothing, until properly arranged.
These letters, my loves, mean we’re bound by blood. A recipe of hormones and genetic trails. A history of cysts and eyes blue like a glacier stream.
For now, our formulas lay contained in little baggies of blood within my womb. When we meet there will be 2 hearts outside of me.
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