The Missing Puzzle Piece
I thought I loved before.
I thought I knew the taste of romance.
(Matchsticks and song lyrics.
Lucky cigarettes and fire escape nights.)
I thought I knew the taste of passion.
(Stealing kisses in thunder storm,
pressing each other into door frames,
his slim hand curling over my curves.)
But now I know love is weathering through
love is kissing the tears away,
holding hands when memories are pain.
Love is taking care of one another,
setting aside the ache in our own hearts.
(All those other loves may have felt real,
but they were make-believe and superstition.
Something I believed in fully
but never truly understood.)
Love is laughing so hard you choke on your own spit,
love is sneaking away from the arcade games to kiss,
love is eternal, love is his embrace at the end of a long day.
This is what I waited for.
This is what I desired most in my imaginary friends and favorite lovers.
They say he completes me,
but that implies I was incomplete before.
He’s not my other half but rather the missing puzzle piece.