They are so beautiful together, my two beloveds, one dark-haired, one fair, both with full mouths and doll-lashed eyes. They look so right holding each other, as if they were sculpted this way and only chiseled apart at the very last moment, and I try to take comfort in it, even as it scalds the inside of my mind with envy. But I’ve always known I wasn’t sculpted alongside anyone else, that I wasn’t made to fit against anyone else—that I don’t deserve something as gentle or noble as that. I don’t believe in fate, but this, I think, is ordained: I was meant to live alone. I’m meant to die
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