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  • I thought you and I were Bert and Ernie.

    Those languid hours of solitude when the babysitter would leave us in a room all day: you, screaming from earache, me, trying not to cry/wet myself, Channel 4 flickering at us from 8-4.

    Thank God for Sesame Street.

    At 3 years old, I identified with Ernie and saw an uncanny likeness between you and Bert. His temperamental, obsessive-compulsive behaviour, his frustrated brow and of course, his long thin head. Ernie, trying to appease Bert or coax him in to singing about pigeons. Soft, round, almost certainly an annoying sibling to Bert.

    Over two decades have gone by since we shared those lonely hours. Life has knocked the edges off you, and punched a hole in me.

    On a questionnaire, we’d still be opposite answers, but we are part of the same question. I can’t imagine life without you, shooting down my fanciful ideas, protecting me via chastisement.
    I hope my soft, round head has helped you understand girls, family, the irrational. I hope I’ve pin-pricked your ego. I hope I’ve made you feel safe.
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