Few things reach 100% success, especially in matters of the soul.
But such was your embrace.
Healing it was.
With ability to sew shut lacerations forged by fear.
It filled the void inside me.
Had I known yesterday’s embrace would be our last, I’d have held on through eternity.
I’d have bound myself to you and let the magic of us carry me forever.
Now you’re gone.
Deep slits are spilling my soul, which is reaching for you.
The void is a chasm inside me.
I have no magic.
No titanium needle and thread to stitch myself together.
My soul is incomplete—neither 100% with me nor you.
It wanders, searching for the mending embrace.
But it’s gone.
I must find a way to mend myself.