Pieces

I met you, on the park bench

Crying out, saying you were a wrench.

But when I asked if you were ok,

you looked at me, no, not at me,

Into me, understood me, and I understood you.

You were crying because He left.

And of happiness you felt bereft,

For you had loved him, and he only loved your touch,

Your attention, always all about him. 

I showed you what it was to feel love, to feel the way you made others feel. 

And slowly, ever so slowly, more slowly and tediosuly than anything I have ever accomplsihed,

I saw those teary eyes turn into cheerful ones. 

And it became more worthwhile than any endeavor ever undertaken by myself.

A year came and went, I recieved a call. My eyes downcast, tears flowed down my face.

My family, never would be the same. Missing a part, never to be whole,

My mother, never to again be held.

I told Her I'd be going on a walk, my love, and I went to the same park I met her.

Sat on the same bench.

Cried, and cried, and cried, until I heard a soft hey.

I looked up, and there she was, the same position I had had over her, over a year ago.

I looked up, at the vibrant, whole human whose pieces I had put together.

She looked down at me, a broken human, with no idea how to carry on.

And our positions had been switched, my pieces apart, while hers whole,

and she told me it'd be ok.

"Because I love you, ill put the pieces back together."

And I realized; love is not to be something that makes us feel great,

not to enhance our happiness,

but to bring about happiness, To put the pieces together

when nothing else can.

Because we, like everything else, can break.

And something broken cannot pick up its own pieces.

Because I first loved her. Because She Loves me.