I will never be whole,
Not in the way the world believes,
There are parts of me that slip through the cracks,
Quiet and unnoticed, like autumn leaves.
I wander through moments,
A reflection of something incomplete,
A whisper of what could have been,
But never quite the sum of what I seek.
I carry my fragments, scattered and soft,
Each piece a memory, a dream, a wish,
Some things fit, some things break,
And I wonder if I'll ever find the stitch.
There's no grand repair, no simple cure,
No perfect ending to make me sure.
I am the spaces between, the pause, the sigh,
A half-formed question I never ask why.
I will never be whole, and maybe that's fine,
Maybe the cracks are where the light shines,
Maybe the gaps are where I learn to breathe,
To accept what I am, to just be.
I'll never be whole in the way they expect,
But I'm learning to live with the pieces I collect.
I may not be complete, but I'm still here,
In my own quiet way, drawing near.