When I lay at night I think of you,
I find parts of myself missing.

How very cliché.

Yet is it my fault?
Is it my fault I cannot control the muffled musings of a
subconscious I have tried so hard to suppress?
Is it a fruitless task to explore the what if's,
the why's, the could have's?
Is it wrong to hold on?

When I lay at night I think of you,
I find parts of myself missing.
You were always the puzzle that I was more
than happy to help complete.
Even if that meant giving up parts of me.