Cold Coffee Chronicles

Our blood is alphabet soup. Poured from the same vessel. Symbols glommed together that mean nothing, until properly arranged.

These letters, my loves, mean we’re bound by blood. A recipe of hormones and genetic trails. A history of cysts and eyes blue like a glacier stream.

For now, our formulas lay contained in little baggies of blood within my womb. When we meet there will be 2 hearts outside of me.