Pieces

In my hands lay the pieces of my heart.
Broken, ripped, and torn.
Just pieces, old, unkempt.
They are useless.
I can not bring myself to throw them away.
I keep holding them,
Trying to fit them back together.
They don't.
The pieces are worn and weathered.
They don't fit anymore.
They are different now.
They have grown apart.
They have become their own.
I keep holding them to try and restore the damage.
To fit them back inside me where they belong.
Hoping beyond hope that it is not to late.
But time has passed, things have changed,
And in my hands the pieces remain.