Dear DJ,

When we started hangin' out less I tried to remember a time we weren't together. It was hard to find one. I imagined our mothers, side-by-side in the hospital, legs spread or whatever, givin' birth to us. All the pushin' and heavin' and screamin' and all that, then, out of them, came me and you, covered in amniotic fluid and blood. It seemed right, that we'd be born next to each other.

Then, you know, I'd realize I was imagining our mom's vaginas and I'd get grossed out, and stop.

I wish we talked more so I could get brave enough to tell ya this.

- MJ


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