Two is never one as much as we might wish it to be, this illusion lovers claim when we seek to lay claim to another’s heart, two must be two and remain apart, not daring to lose who each is in this delusion.
Why I love another is because that is another, not some
missing piece of myself or me a piece of her, but this amazing separateness, being
who has become to mean something special. So that when we touch or kiss or make
love, we share something we do not have something in ourselves, a missing piece
of a jigsaw puzzle, we might otherwise failed to miss, a kiss of lips, bringing
two entities into the same space briefly, not missing parts of me or her, but
each giving something the other lacks.
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