If the illusion that I, born with the same number of vertebrae as you were, have somehow grown up to shrink down,half of what is your ribcage being my entire endoskeleton; that men grow up raw and sweet, like the water from the youngest streams, marking their beginnings atop mountains and women, well, women are born out of men, distributaries, only half a river at a time;  that when a man screams in pain it is a symbol of him going through it, but when a woman screams in pain she must not have enough of it in her life yet;  that it takes so much for a woman to be 'strong' that once she has been strong, that's all she ever is again; that I nod every time your sentence ends in a question mark, because if I don't it's still a nod anyway;-   if this illusion is what keeps you glued to my wrist, shouldn't I be glad?