Puzzled Incomplete

I needed to runaway from everything that had to do with how I used to be. The ghosts of my past were still chasing me by the time I met you.

I was standing in the middle of the rain. I could almost taste the flavor of the raindrops. The breeze of the cool weather, running chills through all my body, reminded me of how you made me feel.

You never tried to understood what I meant; I spat words that had double-sensed meanings. I should have supposed that you were not good at interpretation.

I was trying to find myself; I traveled galaxies dressed in yellow, like the color of the shirt you were wearing when I saw you for the first time.

All of our days are mundane until we face certain situation that makes us question our previous thoughts. And so it was, just an ordinary day driving through another boring highway, like many I'd seen in the last years; full of white lines we are more than destined, obligated to follow. We know we have broken the routine when we get to the end of those lines, and I must say I'd never thought you would be standing at that edge.

I looked at you; you had that big smile I'd always recognized in you. The security that reflected in your eyes was all I needed to knew you were complete… but in some way I kept hoping you were just like a puzzle that was missing a piece. I was wrong indeed, you were complete.

You never really needed to listen to that bunch of songs I placed in your ears—not that you didn't like them. And let's be honest you always wanted all those actions I was never meant to follow—Not that I was afraid.

Through the intersection between our spaces I traveled. We were very different, that's true, but wasn't it for that— that all of this worked up?

Didn't you like the sentences I wrote for you? Or the words that I recited? Then why you just picked-up all your bags and left? You acted like a coward; maybe after all you weren't so complete. And so again you get me to prove I was naïve.

I kept hoping broken, cliché excuses will never ripped our book apart, but the sunny days were always your favorite ones, to pick up some new reasons for making more meaningless excuses.

You scared away all of my ghosts, and broke all of my shells. I was happy, yes—but vulnerable none the less. Then you left and my entire fragile, broken structures well ripped apart torn to pieces. Convulsions of sad damages provided that anyone could get to see so clearly into me; and that became my worst fear.

So I'm left here to fight against the cold weapons of tomorrow. This is a battle I'm fighting for my own now. So please just let me say that now I am complete—and is the worst sensation I ever expected to find. Now I can get to understand from where all your sorrows came from. I don't want to be like you anymore. I need to be incomplete, so someone could fill me up again. I need to be weak, so someone could give me shelter. But what I need the most is to be the puzzle you never really finished— the piece you never placed. The unconcluded picture you never understood.