I saw you first in front of the store we agreed to meet. I can smell the awkwardness a few meters away like a burning cookie in the oven. I know you are not ready to see us. You are trying really hard to wear your smile. Your heart, as clear as the ocean sky, cannot sink in another world. You were like a snail hiding in its own shell every time someone tries to peek in. You don’t really care how the world outside your shell is revolving. You are a world on your own. The stage is yours and you walk your way against the squeaking pain of a shattered shell. Resilience, you said. You are resilient.

I listened to your story over and over. Asking questions you are hesitant to answer. You are giving your stories piece by piece, I have no idea how to put the puzzle together. You never open your hands. You always keep it fisted in your pocket. Burying that relevant puzzle piece in the grave of your sorrow, waiting people to discover you. I want to rip open your mind and dig the unspoken thoughts hidden in the muddy shell of your skull.

You once taught me about depenetration. Told me how we are so quick in pouring our hearts out. Peeling layers and layers of skin like an onion reaching the core of our hearts. Only to find out that nothing is there to hold us together. So we slowly, painstakingly depenetrate. Tip-toeing our way out of each other’s heart. Our feet full of spikes that scratches deep into the scar.

Last night I saw you in front of the store we never agreed to meet. Your eyes sparkling with jest. Your smile as wide as ever. I saw new people peeking in the windows of your heart so you open the door for them. You are now out of your shattered shell. Your hands no longer tied in your pocket. You give new puzzle pieces to each of them. I never saw those pieces before. They are bright and fresh, smells like a morning dew. A drop of hope that stretches in the field like a rainbow after a drizzling rain.

My heart stopped beating as I see you again. I feel my hand form a fist as I keep it inside my pocket. I’m still holding a tattered puzzle piece of our memories. I never thought I bled when we tip-toed away. Never felt the spike slowly pinching into my skin. It was not painful then but it was thrice the sorrow now. I never get to see the new puzzle pieces you are handing out. I bleed for the indifference we uphold. The lack of intent to reconnect the glowing pieces of the stories untold.

You never taught me how to repenetrate a depenetrated heart.


24 thoughts on “Puzzle

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