I am one; I am two. Not age but number. There are two of me. Sometimes she's I and sometimes she's she. It's like how sometimes I am seething sex and sometimes she is sexless. Or is that me? My father stole my sex drive when I was seventeen. But it didn't happen in the way it sounds. It was more of a magic trade. I got his talent. And he couldn't steal it all the way because sometimes it comes back, hotter and thicker than I can handle. And perhaps his talent, too, waxes and wanes. And now I am confused. Is he two too? Each one of us, a walking contradiction.