Pieces of the human soul become blended
like potions in a cauldron. The body
houses a soul once whole. Like a puzzle,
pieces of the past stick to new memories.
Love is the glue that holds together
parts of my heart once severed. Days
go on: the present becomes the past. Life
slows down only when we do. It’s true;
the glass we look through is fragmented:
a mosaic of sorts. Lines often blur. Things
don’t seem to fit. There’s a growing list.
You will be okay. Do as you once wished.