puzzled

Tearing something apart , you are left with pieces .

You start over.

And goodbyes are hard.

I usually avoid them.

There’s this race .

To be “in the moment,”

to tie all the ends,

to open every knot.

But is it really that important?

The loose ends tug.

They ache.

And somehow...

you want to feel that.

You want to know it’s real.

To go back whenever you want, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

It makes you think.

Makes you think over, and over again.

So let's start over...

but there are some pieces still on the floor.

Pieces that don’t fit anywhere.

You don’t know what to do with them.

But you don’t really want to do anything.

They just sit there, silent and taking up space.

All messy. In your way.

The pieces that do not fit any puzzle.

But they are yours and you wanna keep them yours.