your gesture carries some other people's gestures. maybe you wouldn't able to understand that. you carry my mother, my past lover, my father, my brother, my friend's gesture. you are what you are now, with what you do, and you are what they were, and what they did.
maybe I shouldn't relate you with the memories, because you deserve your own spot of memory in my head. but there's a blurred line between memories, and each affects another. I can't see your gestures without interpreting it as how I experienced it before. maybe when you're mad I'd see it as your show of affection, maybe when you're not there, I'd see it as a gesture of disinterest and disconnection.
but you deserve your own memory, with your own lines, although I know, that maybe, you'll also affect the memories I have about another people. and that's how I know you'll live inside here.