We take each other’s stories and retell them as our own. ‘Did you know,’ she will say, and I’ll smile while listening to her iterate. For giggles I unwrap her anecdotes and place myself inside, she takes them back as gifts and brags to everyone. I make copious notes which she files smiling. ‘I’m compiling our lives,’ she tells me. I place this info on index, later she will read it back as hard reflex in passionate rote. Making no amendments, I’ll say I love what she wrote. She will tell me, ‘Honey, I couldn’t have done it alone.’

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