You,
before I was born,
rested your head
on my mother's chest.
She
held you in her arms
and your body
rested atop her pregnant bump of me.
You
were young--
less than seven months
and I
was yet to breathe
the air of your world.
You and I,
we must have,
must have,
known each other
before our births.
Me and you.
Who will be the first
to stop breathing the air of our world?
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