Pieces

I was pieces. Parts of a picture.
I was fragments of fractals,
Particles and pebbles,
Segments of a self not realized.
I was spots and dots,
Droplets and drops of ink.
Pixels of a portrait shattered.
I was but some single steps of a dance,
Grains of sand on a shoreline of questions.
Then I heard a note. That note.
Counterpoint to quiet solitude.
It made me look and there I saw it. I heard it.
I was captured by the harmony in your eyes
And all of these sorted and shifted until,
Assembled, the pieces were no more.
They were now parts of a whole.

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