The Physician

The secrets of fitness.
All the fitness he requires.
Is to feel your need for him.

So here I sit, tearing this picture. I carefully stare at each piece as I rip it off, trying desperately to engrave in to my brain what it looks like and where it fits. The years haven't treated the picture well... it's dirty and faded. In need of being restored. Some wonder why I have held on to it for so long, but they did not see what I saw in it, and I can't forget how beautiful it once was. The logic is enough to drive me mad... that the best way to restore the picture is to tear it up, walk away, then maybe put it back together in the future.

What about the image? What if I can't remember where the pieces fit? What if it is never restored? What if I lose too many pieces in the move?

As hard as it is, you feel it is the only way... and it happens to be what the doctor has ordered. How I pleaded with him. I could merely hide the picture in one of the darkest corners of my basement... He looked at me, and in the most heartfelt, loving tone, delivered the bad truth... that I will never forget the beauty, and as long as the picture was in my possession, I would always go back to it. I would look deeply at the remnants, trying desperately to remember the detail and the beauty.

I know He is right.
And as absurd as this situation really is... maybe down the road, I will have the courage to try to put the pieces together... and who knows, maybe it will be more beautiful than ever.
I'd like to think that it might.