"i didn't find love until i was old," she'd say, breathing deep. "and we were like two spoons. i was worn-in, used, damaged, and bent. he was new, fresh from the packaging, glimmering under a kitchen ceiling light. but beside my mangled image and his polished outside, we fit each other perfectly. every one of my curves and bends was identical to his, and if you placed us together, you could not peel us apart. perhaps it's because we were made for each other, or maybe it was that sticky residue left on my handle from nights before."

one day, i want to find love like two spoons the way she did. i want to find my fit. and i know he's out there. he's out there waiting for me. but for now, i have a lot of silverware to look through.

11/22/2002

Author's Note: i just found this. i wrote it when i was 13.

Posted on 08/19/2006
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