Yesterday I posted a short piece about a missing jigsaw piece. I wrote it a few years ago when I did a creative writing class.
I was reminded of it because we seem to be in a jigsaw phase. There is one completed on our dining room table and youngest son helped grandma finish one this morning.
As a child I never had the patience or inclination to sit and do a puzzle. I would rather read a book or play a game. Even now I hate the sorting out and doing the edge bit but once a jigsaw is on the go I find them as difficult to resist as anyone else.
What I posted yesterday was about a missing piece dropped on the floor.
Andrew is probably the missing piece, lost forever so I will never be complete.
I am the awkward piece, the one you just can’t place, or at least that’s how I feel at the moment.
I don’t know which way is up and which way down.
I am the piece most likely to be left until the end. The piece that doesn’t seem to belong to this picture at all.
Unfortunately I think that there are a lot of other pieces that need to fall into place before I feel truly content. There are probably some pieces that aren’t even in my life yet.
So here I lie, scattered, broken on the table. Waiting for someone to pass and click everything into place.
I really do HATE jigsaws!