This remains our mystery

See, I could fill rooms and mouths to understand just what it was you did to me.

I could pour ink through my fingers, spill memories across the page until they form the neatest of lines. I could attempt to distill what survived, sift through the words to find some greater truth about love.

And you.

You?

I come up empty every time.

Desire? Love? (The chemistry? The alchemy?)

The way you altered me.

Above all, this remains our mystery.

inexplicable by Joanne Piechota
Image by Joanne Piechota

Published by Eidyia

I am only three things for sure - an Atheist, a Feminist, and a Writer - one who obsesses over the grand themes of love, memory and connection.

One thought on “This remains our mystery

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