Do you recall the story about how we were once complete, perfect Beings, only we were torn apart into two halves and cursed to search for our remainder to regain that completeness?
I feel like Writer was my other half, and for a wonderful, brief time we were once again complete…
Only that original break created chips and scars, irreparably changing the fabric of who we were.
I know that my scars, our damage and defects prevent us from truly fitting together.
It is up to me to massage my injuries and regain health and mobility, to stretch and expand my range of motion, to become whole into myself.
I am forever changed. My other half no longer is a perfect fit for me, as I am no longer a perfect fit for him… No matter the mutual recognition or shared longing that it instilled.
Once I have healed the new wounds from attempting to rejoin that which cannot, only then can I potentially find another who has healed, not to become one, but to become a set that complements each other.
I will always remember, always love what had once been my other half, my soul mate.