Beloved
My beloved,
You exist. I'm pretty sure of that much. It's the little details like 'who' and 'where' that are tripping me up. This game of love and life where you have a handfull of pieces and search the world for somebody else that can fit their handfull of pieces together with yours in some sort of coherent way. Somewhere in the neighborhood of six billion people on the face of the planet. And you, beloved, out there among them. Maybe near, maybe far. Maybe you've even fit your pieces nicely enough with another and I'm left with my odd shaped pieces. Never enough of them to form a complete picture. Never a way to keep the straight edges from stressing the curves. You have those missing parts that can transition, provide a buffer, between the jagged edges of me. If by some strange fluke you read these words. . .
You exist. I'm pretty sure of that much. It's the little details like 'who' and 'where' that are tripping me up. This game of love and life where you have a handfull of pieces and search the world for somebody else that can fit their handfull of pieces together with yours in some sort of coherent way. Somewhere in the neighborhood of six billion people on the face of the planet. And you, beloved, out there among them. Maybe near, maybe far. Maybe you've even fit your pieces nicely enough with another and I'm left with my odd shaped pieces. Never enough of them to form a complete picture. Never a way to keep the straight edges from stressing the curves. You have those missing parts that can transition, provide a buffer, between the jagged edges of me. If by some strange fluke you read these words. . .