Somewhere deep in my soul
there is something missing,
a piece that has yet been written,
a piece that is missing the notes,
as if a song were unfinished,
as if a poem were cut off mid-sentence,
as if a part of me was missing.
It is not my other half,
for I am not half,
yet, it is a part of me that is whole
just like I was born twenty-six years ago,
all I know is that it is currently blank,
yet, in the back of my mind
it will soon be filled just like the River Thames.