Two incubators, two stuttering fluttering hearts, held in fragile days.
Sleepless nights in tandem, tiredness almost impossible to know.
Two pairs of shoes, four stumbling steps. Measured in chalk against the door.
First days at school, together. First friends, sometimes apart.
One football, two different shirts. Rivalry that grows, retreats and moves in fits and starts.
Every year two cakes, candles flickering on mirror images.
One day, two kisses at the door. One call, one goodbye. Half life goes forth.
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