I think we found love. I remember how carefully we gathered the vulnerable pieces of our once broken hearts. I remember how we held them in our trembling hands, afraid we would lose pieces and the puzzle would remain forever incomplete. I remember how we cradled them, tending the cold bruises with wine-induced poetry. We waited until the sun thawed them, and they grew warm with laughter.
When they healed, we cherished them like moments. We cherished those moments like precious diamonds. We intertwined our heartstrings and synched our heartbeats.
We were only trying to protect what we thought perfect. So we clenched our fists and tightened our grip. We clenched them so tight that we let our hearts slip away. It all slipped away; slowly at first, then altogether. We made prisoners of the soldiers wounded at war. The sandcastles we made came crumbling down. Our poetry collapsed into clichés. We found ourselves broken into pieces unfathomable. Our moment had passed like a dream after waking. But, somewhere along the way, I think we found love.
Author: Sana Goyal