Undone.
Incomplete.
Something missing.
We think we are pieces of a puzzle,
You and I.
Faith.
Hope.
The last of our expectations.
immersed in the notion of something
that will fulfill us.
We are so intrigued with this idea
of someone
Completing us.
Healing us.
Filling us.
Sometimes I wonder…
Maybe we were born whole,
not nuts and bolts.
not a jigsaw puzzle.
nothing missing.
She was a pristine enigma
In a world of unfurled parchments
A jigsaw puzzle of a million pieces
some discovered, some missing
There were facets of herself
she was yet to fathom
There were mysteries and riddles
she was yet to answer
Far and wide she went
Seeking, deseperately, some lucidity
Praying for the fulfillment
she didn’t know she needed
Drained and exhausted
she ended the ardurous voyage
Only then did she realize,
her answers lay closer
She found them in her heart,
in the hearts of people she loved,
inscribed in the pages
of love letters of her youth
She found them hidden
between the pages of an old book,
in the embrace of her family
and the scent of her home.
Whimsical Wordsmith 