Pieces

Sometimes, with you, I feel like I miss a lot.

I miss being by myself.

I miss being myself.

I miss flirting at parties, and talking to whoever I please.

I miss having fun.

I miss having a lot of friends, which seem somewhat diminished these days.

I feel like there’s a piece of  me missing.

Although,

some days, I just feel like I’m whole.

But, do I get to decide that I’m whole?  What’s whole? And who knows when they are?

"I’ve come undone
But you make sense of who I am
Like puzzle pieces in your hand"

It’s true, I suppose.  You made me what I am today.  And for that I will be forever grateful, because even I can tell that I’m a better person now than I was. Inside, at least.  

"I come to you in pieces
So you can make me whole"

Sometimes I feel fragments of the old me coming back, and sometimes I actually enjoy that. But most times I despise it, knowing now what I didn’t know then. I hate who I used to be, yet she used to have so much fun. Hollow, but fun nonetheless. Does that make it okay? I don’t think so anymore.  

Pieces of you, pieces of me

How much is linked? How much of you is there in me?  How much of me is there in you?

I don’t think it’s enough. I don’t think I’m whole anymore.  But I can’t really think of a time when I was, so I’m not sure what to look forward to.

"You make sense of who I am"

But you don’t know the half of it.  Or you know, but you choose to ignore.  It’s like selective hearing.  So common.

"I thought I’d lost before"

Feels like I’m lost.

Nothing works without you.