Enigmatic Fragments

Unfinished sentences…thoughtless phrases…the use of three dots instead of a period—I’m obsessed with them. Somehow, I feel as if by using them, the pieces I write wouldn’t just express my words…I feel as if by using them, the pieces I write would become a complete reflection of who I ama human comprised of numerous fragments painstakingly arranged to make sense…

I am composed of unfinished sentences…with missing words and missing ideas, misplaced modifiers and hazy subject—all making ‘me’ hard to fathom…

I am composed of thoughtless phrases…one after another…swarming with adjectives—hoping that they would suffice to paint a vivid scene despite the incompleteness…

I refuse to be a finished sentence…I insist to be deciphered…

The pieces—no matter how incoherent they seem…they would eventually make sense. There will always be order amidst the chaos…like one single mosaic piece could finish a masterpiece…Sometimes what you thought of as futile really isn’t…

I am composed of hints and clues…I renounce to be solved just by anyone…

I am a puzzle…with all its meaningless, imperfect, weird-shaped pieces…

I am an enigma…I am not supposed to make sense to anyone…

I am a fragment…I am not supposed to be complete…

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