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.