I am sorry.
We are related, the two of us.
We are, aren't we?
Flesh and Blood.
Who did you see when you first looked at me?
Your granddaughter? The source of all your calamity?
How did you feel the first time?
The second time?
. . .Are you comforted in all that you do?
So, I'm stupid? I am strange?
I'm naive and quite deranged?
These are your words, never mine.
Words from your wounds, reassigned.