I just finished a compelling novel by Lori Lansens about conjoined twins called The Girls. I'm having post-book withdrawals, slightly mourning the end of the intimate relationship you develop with these characters when a story is written in first person. I keep savoring that first paragraph:
I have never looked into my sister's eyes. I have never bathed alone. I have never stood in the grass at night and raised my arms to a beguiling moon. I've never used an airplane bathroom. Or worn a hat. Or been kissed like that. I've never driven a car. Or slept through the night. Never a private talk. Or solo walk. I've never climbed a tree. Or faded into a crowd. So many things I've never done, but oh, how I've been loved. And, if such things were to be, I'd live a thousand lives as me, to be loved so exponentially.
I'll miss you Ruby and Rose, and don't know if I'll get through the year without picking you up once more.
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