The One

Lately, I realized

the tales about "the one"

might be wrong.

I used to believe that

before I was born,

God decided to cut your ribs

and created me.

With his bloody hands,
He gave me an eternal gift,

promising I’d have you
forever.

But what does forever mean,
when time becomes a concept
I can’t seem to grasp?

The day you were mine—
was it yesterday
or centuries ago?

Maybe the one doesn’t stay forever.
Maybe the one only lingers for two years,
then leave.

We are
two perfectly matched puzzle pieces,
destined to belong
to different canvases.

You,
on the table across the room.
Me,

in a pile of stranded pieces,
waiting to fit
into the perfect picture.


Ps: congratulations :)

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