Jagged edges don’t fit.
When I lay in bed alone at night, I remember how our physical beings always seemed made for eachother.
How the small of my back was the exact shape for your torso to rest against. The way our fingers always gravitated towards each other and slid into place as if drawn by magnets, and how your soft lips nuzzled perfectly into the curve of my neck.
We always used to say that even our bodies were effortlessly perfect for each other.
I always thought that we fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Today I realised I had been cutting off parts of my pieces to fit you.