Puzzle Pieces

You and I are both puzzle pieces for pictures none alike.

If my picture is of a cozy kitten curled up, your piece lies on an old hound's curious nose.

If your picture is of scintillating sunlight pouring over a peaceful meadow, my piece belongs to the tail of a crescent moon behind wretched storm.

But when you put our pieces together they fit perfectly, each edge tightly sealed.

An inexplicable bond unbreakable.

And even though I know we are not meant to be with one another, exiled to our respective scenes, I cannot rightfully ignore a perfect fit.

Because how many other pieces out there can make me feel this complete?