Are these my hands, or are they yours?
Are these my eyes, or are they yours?
Where does your DNA end and my own begin?
You claim to know me but you only know of yourself. Only know of your passions, your desires, your journey. Yet you resign yourself to believing that mine are the same. As if I am a duplicate of your thoughts and expression, when you weren’t even around to see me begin.
You had the privilege of knowing me, and now I...