Puzzle Pieces
March 29, 2018
Life,
it’s a mere little thing, really.
But still, we all have one,
and only one.
This one precious life,
we twist it and turn it.
We burn it down to ashes,
but try so desperately to put it back together again.
We try,
we try so hard
to fix this mere
little thing.
But the glue we use
is nothing more than
the mud that lingers
after a summer storm.
Life,
the world’s biggest puzzle,
something that I aimlessly destroyed,
suddenly, it mattered.
It mattered because she mattered.
Suddenly,
the mud I used
washed away by a hurricane.
She happily took its place.
She blithely became my glue.
She put my pieces together,
holding me in place.
Every day, the puzzle pieces,
the ones I would so carelessly
burn and tear,
became permanent.
Like the glue that she was,
they were permanent.
Permanent like the flowers in our
backyard of hope.
When she looked at me,
her eyes twinkled,
and jealous stars broke free of their constellations,
wanting a closer look at them.
But as time raced forward,
her twinkle would fade.
Soon, the stars weren’t jealous.
Soon, the constellations stopped breaking.
Fog clouded her eyes,
and blue skies turned torrid.
Tiredness and starvation consumed her soul.
Pique consumed her heart.
Now, my restless heart sleeps alone.
Each perfectly placed piece falls,
nothing to hold them
together.
She was as permanent as
pencil on paper.
She was as permanent
as life itself.
And still,
Even as I lie adrift
in my stormy, melancholy ocean,
I hope.
As I lie here,
I remember the home we built.
Those walls once built with passion
now decimated into ashes.
I still find myself waiting,
and she hasn’t come back.
But then again,
neither have I.
