I am but a puzzle.

There are pieces of me you like,

Like my kindness, my love for art and animals, or the fact that I tear up at least once a day watching videos of other’s love on TikTok.

You like that I can find joy in most situations, always showing up with a smile on my face.

You like that I’m a child at heart, someone who loves Disney, creativity, and imagination.

These are parts of the puzzle of me,

As I am but a puzzle.

And I’m curious…

Maybe there are other pieces you may also like too.

Maybe you’d like my dark humor, or the way I can be really focused at times (and maybe stubborn) when there is something I really care about, or the way I can read a room.

Maybe you’d like my intuitiveness and wittiness.

If you can like these parts of the puzzle that are me,

Maybe you can like all of me.

As I am but a puzzle.

But wait…

Because I can’t let you know only the ones I already know you like or the ones I think you might like,

Can you like the ones I think you won’t like?

Like the fact I have no friends and haven’t really ever,

Or that I overeat when I’m emotionally charged to the point I am now obese,

Or that I need my alone time very often because I’m so introverted and need to recharge,

Or my inability sometimes to open up and tendency to push people away,

Or that you will never be #1 to me above my twin?

Hmm….

If you can like these things,

Maybe you like all the parts of the puzzle that is me.

As I am but a puzzle.

But the thing is…

While I can show you all these pieces of the puzzle that are me,

Would you still love me if I told you the pieces never created a completed puzzle?

Because the truth is, I have no idea who I am.

I spent my whole life taking on pieces of everybody else’s puzzle,

I’m not even sure which ones are mine anymore.

The identity that is the finalized puzzle.

Can you still love me then?

For I am but a puzzle,

But the puzzle doesn’t exist.