a paragraph short of a novel.
i at least have the luxury of knowing where my missing piece is. safe and secure. on a different continent. a different time zone. may as well be a different planet.
the path is set. not in stone. but in words. words yet to be written. to be typed. folded into an envelope. and sent to government lackeys. words to be verified. authorized. initialed. and stamped.
i am empty. no amount of spoken words. no amount of handwritten conversations. can fill this void. there is a spot in my arms that is cold. the warmth is yet to return. i've a lonely space in my bed. i'm sure there is a twin vacuum on the other side of the world.
it's not just my piece that's missing.
i want to be home.
i want to go home.
to pick up the missing pieces. and slot them gently back where they belong.
we're puzzles. interlocking limbs are meant to join. to show the bigger picture. to tell a story.
to have and to hold.
richer and poorer.
sickness. and health.
and nothing shall ever part.