(Written for my cousins' love story)
It was dumb luck to stumble across him.
The unobtainable he, who ticked every single box except the biggest...which was most significant in the glaring irony of it all.
Then the lonesome ache when surrounded by many, due to his presence burned as an outline in my mind and soul,
The absence of him who was never there;
Perhaps never had been.
Yet gaping within, the hollow piece of a puzzle part missing.
Mercy.
Yet there he was,
Truth unobtainable by the dumb luck of having met him,
Wrong time.
Wrong place.
Wrong circumstances-
Yet there, here! Fragmented off within me, gaping voids unfillable by another.
With words in hand,
Strung across as thread, held with the needle of time. I stitch over the tattered ribbons of the place where he belongs.
Learning to patch the gape, embroidered with initials of the places,
The spaces we once belonged to.
It was dumb luck that he was just a fragment of smoke upon the wind,
While I,
The lungs escaped of whisps below.
ElizaBeth Art
2023
