There's a stutter in my speech.

So I speak slowly, like I have all the time in the world,

And I can only hope my future lover has the patience to hear me all the way through when we argue.

But when they do,

When they don't even blink t-t-twice at my stumble or laugh at my st-t-truggle, I swear I won't be able to help falling a little bit more in love with them.

There's a gap between my teeth.

I have always been embarrassingly self-conscious of it, smiling with a tight-lip grin.

And I've blamed my father, for like my mother has said, she is you, only 26 years younger without a birdy twixt her legs.

But it's growing on me because one day his laugh will be but a memory that will eventually fade with time until I can't distinguish the sound of his voice or see the crinkles in his eyes.

At least, I'll still see him in my reflection, so I smile wide every now and then.

I'm getting close to calling the gap cute.

There's a crookedness to both of my ring fingers.

I extend all ten and laugh at how lazy they seem to be, leaning towards the middle finger as if they needed an added support to their futile attempt at staying upright.

They look nice decorated with rings, though.

And the perfect, even growth of their nails more than makes up for a slight shift in my bones.

There's a creaking sound in my right knee.

I tell my mom but I'm only twenty-one. I can't be having bone problems already.

She laughs as she climbs the stairs, her own right knee harmonizing to the creak, creak, creak of my own.

And I said I would never be like my mother.

I supposed some things were inevitable.

I can only hope to grow a backbone as strong as hers.