Two Halves

The Gods split us in half; from two mouths and four eyes, from two noses and four legs, from two hairlines and four hands, we became one, singular - Plato tells us so. Yet we continue, we strive, to merge and meld, to link and join, to hold and partner and comfort and shroud our 'other', our missing jigsaw piece. Think of Noah and his two by two, even condiments on dinner tables; see proverbs with ying and yang, feel gravity - a push and a pull. What is flame without match? What is ink without pen? What is throw without catch? What is egg without hen? The Gods split us in two, Plato tells us so, and we search, search, for the fingers and ears, the toes and the lungs, for the shins and spine, the knees and the tongue that make up our 'one'; our mosaic, whole. But a hand and a paw, or a mouth and a jaw; an owner's skin and a scale, or derrière and pet's tail, can be that mosaic and jigsaw, that split half, the key and the door for some.