I tried to tell myself that I would draw instead. 

But I found that my hand would lose heart after the first few marks. I forgot how to have faith in those simple little squiggles and lines. 

But I never stopped searching for words. I started writing for others, hoping to find an echo that would tell me what I wanted to hear. 

And my words lovingly bent to fit into the puzzle piece sides of the minds I wrote to. 

But with that, came the realization that true love never craves a matching piece. 

After all, no one fits together perfectly. 

The grooves of our minds are the cuts of keys, ordained to open doors to sights that no other can see. 

To love someone is to love what they can show you. And echoes are the loneliest sounds in the world.