Belonging

I am a rouge wave left to his own devices. A puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right. A discordant note in a symphony and a bite of food spicier than the rest. I don’t quite belong but I am no misfit. Misfit implies a wrongness with what could be right. Conformity is a false comfort and a sweet lie. No one ever fits without sacrificing their very identity. To fit is to treasure another’s definition of self more than your own. Belonging is not to be similar to one another but to be enjoyed by another.