by far the worst cruelty in love or affection or attachment is that it is involuntary,
when you care about a person,
they suddenly become a piece to your puzzle,
a part component of your being.
when they are absent from your life, truly a piece of your life is missing
a silhouette shaped wound, a metaphorically bleeding chalk outline,
the scene where a friendship died.
sometimes a person can come back,
but i think the wound can scar over.
it's shape distorts - their puzzle piece no longer fits the same
but with effort and will, you can make that piece fit again,
it will be tight in places,
it will feel odd and the image will not line up just right,
but
you will be whole again.
often they didn't ask for this, love is insanity that way, a kind of self harm
but volumes have been written on the stupidity or futility of love.
so we keep doing it, cutting and cutting. odd pieces here and there breaking us up,
fitting us back together. odd bits skewing the image,
the puzzle of our own life made occluded by the inclusion of others
people aren't meant to be islands to themselves.
but neither are they aren't meant to be filled with person shaped holes.