He returned once more; I believed he had departed for good, but I was mistaken. It seeps through my entire existence, the fragile construct I have assembled over these past three years, and now I am losing the battle anew. I wonder what surrendering to the Phaedrus will be like this time. I no longer possess the strength to resist him; my arsenal has been depleted, my hands are empty.Perhaps I could grapple with him and stage one final, grand struggle, but what then? I do not wish to battle any longer; I desire freedom from the constant fear of the next confrontation.

She abandoned me, and once again, I was too quick to trust. I have developed the ability to detect the false joy on people's faces over the years – not a particularly useful skill. I can perceive their silent cries for love, the terrifying loneliness brewing within their weary souls. Perhaps I am drawn to that fear. I subconsciously believe that I can remedy it, that I can bend it to my will – though I have never succeeded in doing so.

But why? Is it because I feel powerful, or less incapacitated, in their presence? That is a cruel thought, but it rings true. We often gravitate towards the path of least resistance, however damaged it may be, as it suits our own fractured selves. One might argue that it is an evolutionary necessity: survival of the fittest implies more than meets the eye.

We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Yet many pieces remain absent: a dog, a spacious home, a healthy bank account, and more. This puzzle is designed to remain incomplete. We rummage through the box, cursing the creator for the inferior product. Why was it constructed in such a way? Surely, there must be a mistake, a manufacturing error. Who would devise such a cruel contraption?

You know who – the Divine Jester Himself. We search in vain for the missing pieces, under the sofa, amongst the plants, and even within our own pockets. But they are nowhere to be found.

I felt certain when I purchased this life; the solicitor claimed it was just what I needed. Yes, I use the term "solicitor." He represents that part of us that strives to convince us that everything will turn out fine. He is the impetus behind our foolish actions and the one who has led me to my current predicament. He is the naive, hopelessly optimistic fragment of our being.

Our solicitors are quite fond of one another, deftly guiding conversation and providing the temporary hope we crave during challenging times. In fact, I believe that they represent the part of us that is genuinely in love – the part of us that is truly lovable.

As the days pass, I find myself increasingly fascinated by the concept of incompleteness – the notion that our lives are not meant to be perfect or whole. Perhaps it is this inherent imperfection that drives us to seek out others, to fill the voids within ourselves with the fragments of their souls. We are, in essence, a collective of fractured beings, striving to construct meaning from the chaos that surrounds us.

In the midst of this existential struggle, I have come to appreciate the beauty of impermanence and the fleeting nature of our lives. We are ephemeral creatures, born of stardust and destined to return to it. And it is within this transient existence that we find purpose, forging connections and sharing moments of love and pain, joy and sorrow. We may never find all the missing pieces, but perhaps it is the search itself that truly matters – an eternal quest to understand ourselves and the world around us, even as we embrace the inherent imperfections of our existence.