My life; I am

always a toy,

a transient plaything.

Sometimes hazardous, needing to be recalled.

Sometimes subservient, appeasing..

Always shuffled along, eventually.

He swaggered in.

I was haphazardly arranged,'

a caricature of my former self,

twisted, mutilated.

He broke me.

He fixed me.

Made me new, whole, good.

Opened doors previously intended to remain shut.

I showed him me,

then pushed him out.

He refused to move.

He showed me him,

He beckoned me in,

I stood on the threshold.

Never playing,

always cherishing.

Ever-enduring,

rarely failing.

The dance of fire and wood..

harmonious, warm, sustaining;

yet formidable if gone awry.

Of my own isolation,

he is not here.

A gap remains

in my life, heart, connection.

Will he come again?

Or is he lost forevermore?

Can anything be salvaged from this wreckage?

Ironically,

the most important question is;

will these questions ever be answered?

Time will tell

though time cannot heal some wounds.

My clockwork heart;

he broke it,

he fixed it.