The missing piece of me,
standing there, outside myself.
How perfect! He likes me!
At first I imagined him intuiting all the shrouded,
hidden, cryptic parts of me.
Maybe he loved me, even then,
knowing there was exponentially,
so much yet unrealized?
Seeing past eyes, skin, nails and hair;
a carefully tailored facade, stripped bare,
by love’s expertise.
But what exactly does love see,
romantic love especially?
Do a double take, steal another peak,
could we perhaps just be seeing double?
I love you and you love me,
or you love you and I love me.
Wait, no!! This can’t possibly be true?
I too, standing helplessly before you,
a mere version of the missing piece,