Getting over...

Today I begin to understand
what love must be, if it exists.
When we are parted,
we each feel the lack of
the other half of ourselves.
We are incomplete
like a book in two volumes
of which the first has been lost.
That is what I imagine love to be:
incompleteness in absence.

It's useless to try to keep the other unmatcing half.
If it matches, it will stay.
The completeness I tried to keep
was never meant to complete.
The incompleteness I feared to face
is back again.