i.
maybe people really were made
first as one large whole,
then cracked into pieces
and scattered, so that
if we ever lose our sense of
purpose,
we could know that there is hope
in finding it in others.
ii.
maybe it is fate
that brought me to you,
something magnetic,
or just chance.
i don't care, all that matters
is that i have you--
sometimes i just wish i knew
who to thank.
iii.
it scares me how much i like
the feel of your hand gripping mine,
as though it was meant
to be there from the start
(when i'm with you, i always feel
that much more complete).
iv.
if you carry pieces of me
deep inside of you,
does that mean somewhere
i carry pieces of you too?
ugh. this is cheesy and gross and i hate him for making me write love poetry all the time.