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I trade portions of my heart for pieces of the puzzle. Knowing no other way to do it, I happily carve out segments of my self as payment for clues to the next phase. It is done knowingly, with the best of intentions and with sincere longing for insight into the method of the maelstrom. I tire of wondering why my life seems so different from what I imagined that it would be. Perhaps, instead, it is exactly what I would not allow myself to imagine my life to be.

Still, I trade portions of my heart for pieces of the puzzle. They now lie scattered about, some tucked safely away in protected areas, some providing fodder for amour-propre. From friends to lovers, I may not always reveal the depth to which I have let them in. And still, I carry them all with me. Scripts of love and accounts of loss comprise a narrative the likes of which would catch off guard even my closest.

Yet, I trade portions of my heart for pieces of the puzzle

Everyday, I trade portions of my heart for pieces of the puzzle

and

My heart pays the price for my need to see it all.

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