The morning I woke up

and discovered you were missing,

I went to every thrift shop in town,

every donation center and garage sale,

in search of you.

I went through garbage cans

and every lost and found,

trying to find you

but instead, I found

bits of myself

that I had given away or thrown out,

or had long since forgotten about.

I bought back every piece,

dug in dumpsters and

in the cracks of the sidewalks,

and took them all home to wash.

I rinsed them,

and scrubbed,

and dryed each one,

and slowly,

carefully,

I began to put myself back together again,

without you,

and without an instruction manual.

And I still have some missing pieces,

some rusted screws,

some rough edges,

but I’m starting to feel whole again,

more whole than the morning I lost you,

more whole than when I thought I had you,

because you weren’t my other half.

I am whole,

a being all on my own,

so the one that comes after you

won’t try to cut me into

an easy half, but take me

in my entirety,

filling in the pieces of me

that I haven’t been able to find yet.