Jay and I are identical.
As kids, we wore matching outfits; learnt to read and count and swim together; were protected from bedtime monsters by our shared four-legged friend.
But as we grew, things changed. I was taught lessons Jay never needed to know. Like when to fake a phone call, and how to carry keys between my fingers, and remember: wear flat shoes when walking at night, in case you have to run.
I didn’t understand at first, but now I get it. My monsters still lurk in the darkness. Jay and I are identical, but we’re not the same.