f your skin was paper and their lips could slice, you would have let them plant paper cut kisses all along your entirety. You would have let them bleed you dry, giving them every last drop of who you are until your sinews wrinkled in on themselves with nothing to hold their form. You would have given anything and everything you could offer, if only it meant feeling whole. You spent the years as a puzzle set with missing pieces, desperately looking in all the wrong boxes for pieces you might be able to smash together in the hopes of completing your picture. When you finally met someone who seemed like an easy fit, you jumped at the chance to put all your pieces in their lap.