Being in a relationship was like doing a puzzle.
Always trying to complete it to view the beautiful picture we had to offer.
Our sides somehow fit together like they had been perfectly constructed for exact placement.
The four seasons cornered each end of our picture and changed everything around us, but never the potential of a great portrait.
Center pieces showed the shades of ourselves we so desperately searched for in the color scheme.
Our many shapes pieced what we needed to do in order to see the final product.
The love we once shard held the pieces of us together and revealed the picture of all we could become if we just prevented the puzzle from getting boring.
Discovering where each piece belonged was you struggling to read my mind, and knowing when not to.
I never imagined our final picture; that took such determination and careful execution would never been seen.

In the cracks of our piece of art lied the fears and guilts that grew thicker and made our pieces dull.  
Before our picture could turn dark by the cracks and disappear into the black I knocked out puzzle to the ground and put away the table that once so generously held us up.

But puzzles aren't fun by yourself.
Lately, as I scatter to clean up the pieces of our once adored scenery, I see yours are missing.
And my edges don't seem to fit correctly.