I used to write letters to her. Camouflaging those from others’ eyes, I used to give her casing those in books. That was our secret, we relished. She used to wake me up, she wakes me up too. Her affectionate touches used to mother me. She used to pamper me; she used to spoil me like she had adopted a child of her age. She used to yell at me and she used to want me to rebuke her. She used to know, I used to hinge on her and she used to depend on my dependence. We used to sit together silently for hours. We used to infer each other reticently. We were used to each other.
........And now we are used to all of these.