you had said,
"i wish i had a clone...
i want to make you happy...
and i want to be there for you
as much as you want me to be...
i want to be the one."

"i wish i had a clone," you whimpered, because then i'd be happy, right?
because your clone is you: you look the same, sound the same, feel the same.
his chest would protrude out just a little like yours: a minor pectus carinatum
he'd have a dent in his head, because he hit his head as a child just like you.
the clone's anatomy would be the same from all of your past injuries.
his emotions would be the same as yours, because you've both lived up to this point...
right?
"i wish i had a clone," you muttered to me.

but i don't wish you had a clone.
the wishy washy words that we spilled to each other on cold nights,
when your frozen skin would warm my heart and my warm exterior would heal
your broken soul,
all those wishy washy words would be lost in translation of DNA and RNA.
no clone can share the connection we had.
the fingerprints i left on your skin the night under the stars would be erased.
the bittersweet goodbyes wouldn't have happened
the mere succulents of your nectar wouldn't be the same.

you wish you had a clone to comfort me in my solace
but a photocopy doesn't suffice an original.
i don't want a copy, a replication, a counterfeit of you
you're like a priceless diamond trying to push graphite onto me
the chemical compound is the same but the structure isn't there.
our bond is unbreakable, irreplaceable, undeniable.

"i wish i had a clone," -- you mumbled to me
as i held your hea to my chest
"i can hear your heart beating," -- you whispered to me
as i held your head to my chest
"i can hear your heart beating." -- would your clone hear the same thing?