You use all of your notebooks
Upside-down and back-to-front.
I don’t know if it’s intentional;
I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed.
I don’t think you’d care either way.
I hold my pen like you do. Always have.
The index stabilises a directive middle finger,
And the ring promises a perfect dent to rest in.
I argue like you.
In just the same way,
I have that same switch
From facetious lightheartedness
To unjustified aggression.
I shout like you.
I swear like you.
I have the same angry eyes.
We have the same hearts:
Too soft, too large, too empty.
We feel too much too deeply.
We act like we don’t care.
We’re not very convincing.
I never wanted to be like you. I still don’t.
One day I’ll miss you and I’ll remember both of our angry words,
Spoken and written in different languages.
We’ve always been too much alike.
It’s not easy, and I wouldn’t choose to,
But I love you.
At least I know I don’t have to say it.
At least I know you already know.