like lost puzzle pieces.

of Markus Spiske

One of the strings of letters I feared to tell you was the mask I placed on my bored face whenever you played my skin as if they were made of the stars in the night sky. Sometimes, I still asked myself why I gripped on this dread when I could just throw you away in the flowing river and never remember you again. But I did and truly, and maybe I got used to your heat that I would never even like the presence of a foreign flame. Or I would just be too sad to spend some time alone.

When we rested on the roof, a few inches apart, your cold fingers crawled with grace to find mine. As each of your bones fit and locked around my reluctant ones, you said something about the jigsaw puzzles and how we were alike them. “Like lost puzzle pieces found.” I heard the vintage saying, but when you said it, I dove to ponder about how could someone truly reach the peak of an ecstasy. Maybe never.

Or how we arrived and remained to be like those small, incoherent game pieces. Maybe it would just take a hand, or mine, to remove them and become lost again.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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