by gbeck1
Home is a person
Roaming the crowded streets yet still feeling alone because you belong to not one of those who pass you by
You fight the urge to reach out not because you fear change or risk
No. You are afraid to love. To be loved, complete and whole.
You thought it would hurt the most when the pieces didn’t fit. If you severed pieces of yourself away, gone forever, carving your jigsaw puzzle piece until its jagged edges were smooth enough to fit perfectly in his arms.
You molded yourself so intricately that the world believed your pieces were destined to be connected. Even you. But you were wrong.
When he left, your piece should have remained the way you so expertly crafted and cleansed it, shaping and reshaping like a mound of clay until you both were satisfied with the result. But the edges re-attached themselves within a week as if he was never there at all, so much so, you found yourself questioning if he was but a figment of your imagination.
This wasn’t love.
After a month, you forgot him entirely, his face fading from your mind’s eye and his whispered words detaching themselves from your soul.
Then came her. When you met her, you were nervous but tranquil in an instant, like a teen’s first high on a summer night.
A reverie of dreams and hopes, a lifetime you would share with her. Your fingers connected in a magical way, like when the final piece of a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle has finally found its way to its rightful place.
You had an epiphany.
Never could you forget her, her scent of spring fountains and warm fire, the way her eyes crinkled into slits when she laughed, yet still they were the most mesmerizing thing you'd ever laid eyes on. The way she said “**** them. I love you.” as she tossed her short yet full blonde hair almost carelessly.
But you knew she cared because those breathtaking eyes were filled with
fear
And now she’s gone. And you're still lost in those moments wondering
Why?
Why did you have to love her?
Why did she have to be so perfect?
Why did she have to be your home?
It doesn’t matter now, but no matter where you are or who you're with, you will always be missing the final piece of your 1000 piece jigsaw.
You’ll always be homeless.
