Here are my edges: one wonky line connected to another to make the shape that is me. They have been made from time and pain and hope and disappointment. I am not saying they are unscalable, or even immovable – some of them are more elastic than others. But I will only cross them by choice.

I’ll treat yours with the same respect, so long as you tell me where they are.

What we should be looking for is the space where they meet, where my inside blurs into yours. Even the smallest of slivers can be a place to start.