Where does love go, when love is lost?
When all "stolen" kisses are only stealing time from an inevitable end to another hopeful beginning.
Maybe love is like a house.
Yes. A house.
Once filled with laughter and light, filled now, with tired and bittersweet memories.
Time picks it's way through the hallways, up the stairs, through every corridor.
Time envelops each crack in the foundation, every surface, until nothing remains.
Eventually, it's like the house was never there at all.

But now and then I feel you.
Like sweet, soft wind against my cheek... a tiny stroke against my heart.
You whisper; "I was there".

A part of me, with you still, whispers;

*"I am here".

I am a puzzle.
But not in the way that I am baffling,
confusing, or hard.
I am a puzzle,
and like any puzzle i've ever come across,
there are pieces bent, and missing.
There are so many pieces of me,
owned by so many different people,
because they take them when they leave.
And now I am  everywhere.
Everywhere, and nowhere.
At the bottom of their drawers,
and under their beds.
At the back of their bookshelves,
a notch on their bedpost.

And each time they leave,
I put myself back together with the pieces I have left.
But I'm scared that one day,
there won't be enough.