Puzzling

JACQUELYN HARRIS JOHN BURROUGHS SCHOOL

Do you ever feel like you’re missing something, but you can’t tell if it was something you lost or haven’t ever had? I keep thinking to myself, “Is it something that was given to me or something that I have to earn? When will I get this missing piece or when will it return to place itself back into the hole left in my being? Has the mold of this mystery completion been established already or has it yet to be introduced? Will this hole ever fill?”

I try to keep myself patient, waiting for the lost answers to finally meet my endless string of questions. I wonder what this piece is and if there is more than one. I worry that the meeting of my empty slot and curious remedy will not be enough to fix the hole. That, in addition, I may need tape, glue, a sealant, nonetheless, to free me of this overwhelming desire to feel whole.

Sometimes my eyes begin to water. Tears collect in the corner, not daring to fall down my cheek. I dab at the growing puddle with my ring finger to stop the storm. But, of course, the storm doesn’t live there; it lives in the hole of that puzzle that plagues me. It taunts me in its empty space, laughs at my confusion, and sneers at my desperation to find my missing piece.

I’ve always loved puzzles, solving them.

But it’s much harder when you’re trying to complete it without knowing what to look for, without a picture for reference. I’ve looked and searched, but the picture on my box is nonexistent...because I never took a picture of myself when I was whole.