There's a piece of me missing
And I don't know where it went
Somewhere between the time wasted
And the search of time well spent
If you'd point me in a direction
I could comply and be content
Or I could run around in circles
Til the minute hand is bent
Where is that little chink?
That piece missing from my heart?
Write directions down in ink
While I create a work of art
See this face that I am painting?
It's missing just one stroke
And before I can complete it,
From another face comes smoke
Oh stroke!
My clock has struck its last
Its hands forever in the past
I stare at it in disbelief
Why such a small thing
Should cause me such grief
I don't know
But this sort of thing
Goes to show
Obsessing with time
Can ruin your rhyme
And finding your chink
Is not important, as you think
Maybe it's time to stop holding on
Don't let your hands get stuck in the past
Reaching for pieces and moments long gone
Live in the present, as long as it lasts
So, this is to all you out there, obsessing over life lost... or "pieces missing" before you can go on. I don't care how old (or young) you are:
There are no "shoulda, coulda, woulda's." There is only now and the pieces that come together to make every day a new day and a whole day, and give the chance for every person to be a new person and a whole person. I love you, to pieces; no matter how many pieces you're in. Or, more aptly, I love you with all the pieces of my heart. (*ynthia
