“Tiny Pieces”

While unrelated directly to ‘positivity’, “love” is positive and I am challenging myself to dabble in poetry (though it is bad, but I’m trying to be kind to myself because I never have really before and these beginnings are humble). Here’s a poem:

Tiny Pieces

Sometimes, I went so long
without seeing his face,
it was like a deity; shining
light, tendrils of imaginary
hair and a palor of waxy skin,
eyes like

conversations that never
actually happened.
But I could focus on just
his eyes, on his thin lips,
their unusual curl, like a
battle-bent arrow.

What is it about love
that fragments the world
so it floats over us in
such tiny pieces, we can
only hope to grab just one?

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