Hope.

We're all made up of broken parts.

We lose small pieces along the way.
That's just the way it is, my darling.
Limbs, memories, convictions, things we were given to hold for others.
So it has been,
so it will be, I expect.

But I have an arm and you have a leg, and together we'll make our way nicely.
Trundling along, not, as I once thought, like some grotesque parody of a child's toy,but as two somethings that fit.
And move smoothly.
We just need a little time to find our balance, some semblance of a rhythm.

And it's not that I don't know who I am without you, or that I am incomplete.
A puzzle piece is still a piece,

when apart from the whole,
it is recognizable for what it is.

Just that I am better, with you.
A whole piece of the bigger whole.