Who am I, though?

I’m not a puzzle,
But an entire constellation in dizzying disarray.

I am a chaos of stars,
Each a fragment of self.

Scattered across the black expanse of being.

There are no neat, interlocking pieces.
No clear pictures emerging.

Just a cosmic blur,
A binding brilliance of confusion.

I am the nebula before creation.
The storm before the calm.

And in this cosmic disorder,
I find a strange, cold beauty.

One born of the unknown,
The uncharted.

Perhaps in time, some pattern will emerge.
A constellation given form.

But for now, I am content to be lost in the stars.
To dance in the void, in my very own cosmic ballet.