She sits on the floor, legs outstretched, head titled back, wondering what piece of him goes where.
Her jigsaw. Her challenge for the day.
He keeps changing, with every piece of him she puts together. Different permutations of him.
She understands him better. And out of the sheer joy of it, she applies two and two better.
Occasionally, there are pieces missing. So, she breaks off bits of her, and put them there.
A little spittle to smooth out rough edges. A nip here. A tuck there.
He takes any shape he wants. He grows. He's beautiful now.
Glowing and full and ready to walk out, shine, put the Sun to shame.
She basks in the glory of him.
Each ray of him, pouring through her, spilling onto the floor beyond.
Through gaping spaces.
Spaces made to him.
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