Canvas

I admired how they could walk in many shapes like a marching troupe. Their voices differed in wavelength, yet matched in resonance. They were the wrong puzzle pieces that fit together in certain places and looked beautiful that way. They were whole on their own, yet even moreso together.

So where was I in the picture?

It’s not that my knobs were too round or square. It wasn’t even how I stood out, even though barely stood by the colors beneath my feet. I’m sure I had a spot somewhere in the picture. Maybe a rigid corner or a loose edge, but I was once there.

Could it be that I only had a taste and nothing more?

I do miss the days when our feet could run without aches. The patches of green that grazed against our heels until we met a rather woody embrace, the cotton candy clouds that moved with us as we aged, the gentle glow that lit the waves of our voices as we sang on stage — It was long ago, and it no longer feels like yesterday.

Was there any reason for it to turn out this way?

We grew older. Some of us are happier, some sadder, some without a father, mother, sibling, or brother. I saw how they cried when we had to say goodbye as if it were the last time. Between hugs and tears, I said it was a see-you-later at best.

I now know who we left behind.

Do you think they’re proud of how far we’ve come? These kids, who had dreams strung between quiet secrets, are finally going big without going home. Would they get or autographs or even exchange smiles? These kids, lost to time and happiness, grew to be who they needed before.

It’s lonely that I see this alone.

We were all puzzle pieces from different sets — some vintage, some fresh, and some forgotten. But like any puzzles, some pieces fall out like paint that chips off a canvas.

I am standing on the same floor we all wished for — one we’re we saw ourselves as works of art.