but how often also do i think of you, my dear girl. i am the pieces of a puzzle that i wanted to build with you. but the puzzle is no more; yet the pieces remain, and i am become the pieces that i wanted them to be. never mind the tautological (re)construction or the misconceived teleology. what i am now is this - i am, advertently, the pieces of a puzzle that fit nowhere, because your pieces are gone. if only i had never loved you! could not less be asked of me, after all.
