Such a puzzling
A fracturing to have had
Another, of you

Tonight, I find it strange. The feeling of missing someone, some thing, or some place. Are we ever really whole if we can find ourselves missing parts of ourselves that became something entirely whole with another? Or are we just jagged fragments of everyone we’ve ever loved and been loved by? Who am I, without you? What more am I, than yours? How long until I’m me again? Since… I’m missing you.