Fated.

Long has it been said we were born with four legs, four arms and two heads. Split in half by an angry God- forcing us to spend eternity scrambling for our missing piece most do not find. Most pretending they have because their sharp edges have dulled to something that will -mostly- fit into the crevices of the other.

But what if you do find your other half, bleeding, exposed and needing and then lose it?

I think I must have somewhere along the line. For I was me for sixteen years, and then somewhere between then and now I lost it. Perhaps it occurred like in a video game when you hit an enemy with a poisoned arrow and it stuns all those around it. Perhaps that has occurred to me; Fate the archer and I the victim among swaths of loves. I do not know whom of my many loves I belong to only that I am missing them with an ache bone deep, so in such I feel dehibilated with every passing day.

It feels though my heart has been drained partially, my body compensating for its loss with blood and energy I do not have to spare. The half that still remains of them is only a husk that I faintly remember as a beat beneath my ear and warmth within the confines of my soul. But I could not place a name to the sensation.

The love, the adoration, the strength has been taken and left a withering leaf in its place.

It aches like ripping a piece of loose skin from your lips- pain, and then dull until it heals again.

Because I do refill it slowly with all that and more, until someone comes again to take from its wealth.

Another missing piece, jaggedly trying to fit into me.