Can I never be content?

I have my Burlington Summer. I have my job, my internship, my friends. I escaped from Southern Vermont. So why don't I feel complete? Can I never be content with anything? I can't shake this feeling that something is missing out of my life. I can't help but think that I will never feel complete. But what defines me as complete? Is it achieving everything I ever set out to do? Is it being surrounded by crowds of my best friends? Is it having someone to come home to every night, to call a love? Or is it maybe that because of a shattered past, I will never understand what it means to experience love, or to know love. Maybe I only think that I know what love is, or how I should love, or even be loved. Maybe I'll only experience half-loves and flings for the rest of my life, because sometimes I feel like I'll never find the person who can complete me or love me the way I should be loved.

Maybe I don't even want to be completed. All I want is to find that other person who will be my missing obscured puzzle piece. Even if we don't fit exactly, we fit in all the places that it matters. Sure, the edges will be worn, but isn't that what will make it wonderful? I often find the beauty is within the worn, cracked edges of memories. Maybe it won't be a lover, but just a friend. A friend who fits me, who understands me. Who knows me. Someone who can know what I'm trying to say, just by understanding the signals of my eyes. Who will accept me at my worst, because only then will they deserve me at my best. Someone who will understand that yes, I'm fucked up.

Yes, I have my secrets, I have the skeletons in the depths of my closet. I have my inner demons that I battle every damn day. It's a constant struggle not to give into the darkness that I know waits at the edges of my soul. I can feel it. But something keeps me going, whether or not it's the fact that I'm strong or that I hate failure, I don't know. But within all this, sometimes I struggle to face the light and I can feel the blackness in my eyes, the blank stares when I look at you.

But all I ever wanted was for my other piece to be there. Not to solve my problems for me, not to fix my broken heart, or bandage my scars. Just to be there in the darkness, and in my weak moments, hold my hand and give me the tiniest hope that everything is eventually going to be alright. I would never openly admit it, because I'm incapable of showing emotions and admitting my weaknesses, but though I have a tough exterior, sometimes I'm fragile too.