I swear I left it around here somewhere.
Perhaps it rolled under the bed.
Maybe the balled up socks in the corner have the
I'll check and untidy the room.
As much as I love looking for the missing piece that completes a puzzle.
I often get the feeling completing one puzzle leads seamlessly
To doing it all again
With different pictures
And times of day.
I always preferred being one step removed from completion.
The dirty dishes and the ashes in the sink.
The unmopped floor breeding the mold.
My hair too long without any gel.
Those sorts of things.
You see, in my back pocket are potentially millions of final pieces.
That I removed from many jigsaws
From all over the world.
Perhaps I was the mischievous creator that day.
Revelling in the madness of lacking the third side of the triangle.
Maybe I gave someone two missing pieces
And watched with interest
Intent on damning and demeaning either choice
So the poor soul was a dead man either way.
Many missing pieces.
Piled in warehouses and stacked in old shoe boxes.
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