I am comfortable with you. I don’t mean comfortable in the sense that we can have easy conversations, or in the sense that your presence doesn’t make me jittery. Rather, I mean it in the sense that your presence is identical to mine; that being with you is exactly the same as being with myself, only extended, only allowing for now and then your laughter to echo mine. Maybe it’s just the time that’s gone by; the way our bodies have lived in such proximity for so long that we’ve rubbed each other’s edges down, memorized the coastlines of each other so our tides would always know where to crash against land. I don’t think so. I think it’s design. We are custom clockwork, an intricately developed circadian rhythm between two hearts meant to beat in tangent.