Time has made me an outlier. One month after her forty-second birthday, my Mum gave birth to me in the fall of 1991. The sun rises earlier and sets later upon the house that encases our whiteness. The inevitable has caught me in an in-between moment of looming tension; nothing is wrong and nothing is quite right. Our skin is marked with creases, cuts, and blemishes that will heal and regenerate but the permanence of their presence rests with me, as I am Evidence

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