I would like to feel that I was a piece in
their puzzle.
I want my own little slot to slide into
where only I fit, where I am received, not in spite of my unique edges, but
because of them.
I want them to feel incomplete without me, for
them to feel the empty section which distorts the finished image where I am
missing, and for them to spend countless hours tenderly searching for me under
chairs and rugs, and squeal with delight when they find me and promise not to ever lose me again.
My family is a crackled jigsaw missing lots
of bits. It’s not a faultless conclusion. It’s a child’s discarded toy, too
difficult to complete, and too tedious to resolve.
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