ONE THOUSAND PIECES

I don’t create to be understood. I create to understand.

When I opened the closet, I saw them.

The same puzzle pieces we picked out together

That’s when the memories started to form.

The way we stood in that store. The way we dreamed about quiet nights building something together.

I started to form my own puzzle but I didn’t follow the image on the box.

There was no plan.

Just instinct. Chaos. Emotion.

I placed each piece down like I was remembering.

But not to restore what we had—

to understand it.

By the end, I didn’t know what I’d built.

It was uneven. Messy.

But mine.

so I held it close.

A reconstruction of a relationship now gone.

Not perfect—

but real.

This is a story about what remains.

And how even in pieces, we can create something worth holding.