“Why do I get two hands?” I ask. She pauses and furrows her brow, pressing her hand against her cheek. “Hmm, so that it has a friend.” “But your hand is my hand’s friend,” I say. “Yeah, but soon I’ll be gone,” she says so matter-of-factly I swear she is you, reincarnated. The kid isn’t even five and she is already planning her departure.
