Puzzle Pieces
My puzzle pieces were scattered
when we met.
Some were lost,
some were broken,
and some I had forgotten
were ever missing.
Then you came along
and picked them up.
You played with the pieces,
turning them over in your hands,
trying to find where they belonged—
or where you thought they looked right.
You helped me find
the pieces I thought were gone forever.
And somehow,
with you,
I started to feel whole again.
I thought maybe
you were the last piece.
The one I had been searching for.
The one that would finally
make everything fit.
But you weren’t
the last piece.
You were just another piece
of my puzzle.
A beautiful one.
A complicated one.
Definitely one of my favorites.
And when you left,
the puzzle fell apart again.
Pieces scattered across the floor,
some slipping beneath the furniture,
some cracking beneath the weight
of everything that happened.
You decided
putting the pieces together
wasn’t so much fun anymore.
So you left me
with the pieces.
Again.
Only this time
there were more of them.
More pieces scattered.
More pieces broken.
More empty spaces
where something used to fit.
And now I sit here,
surrounded by pieces,
waiting.
Waiting for someone
to sit beside me
and help me put them together again.
Because I’m tired
of being the only one
trying to make
the puzzle whole.