I ran out of my house, looking for you— but you were nowhere to be found. I wandered streets, mazes, labyrinths, chasing shadows of a face I knew. I found you— pieces of you— scattered across paths, roads, silent walkways. So many fragments that I forgot who I was even looking for. I saw you that one summer, both of us locked in, but holding a love too quiet to name. I didn’t know it was you— because I wasn’t me. And like the ocean that gives must also take, I lost you to the pull of the tide. Then I found you again, in another form. We named it something, but it was only a forest at midnight— silent, lonely, unseen. So like a bull, I pushed you away, scared you— even hurt you. Later, I found you in a faraway love, but ended it— already broken, already afraid. I regret that still. And now, like the circle of the day, the sun rises and falls, and behind it, the moon always follows. So I ran— like wind through an open door— still searching for you. But in all the ways I found you, I finally saw the one who’d been missing— was me. And now, I want me back.