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Puzzle piece

Anonymous, 2024

My life shattered into a million pieces, the day you died.

Like a brand new puzzle you dumped on the kitchen table; pieces everywhere.

Have you ever tried putting a puzzle together with gloves on? Blindfolded?

As the months would pass, I would start to have clusters of pieces connected.

Almost able to see my life again.

My life with you still in it.

My life before you took your last breath.


A holiday.

A birthday.

A random Tuesday.

The days I missed you a little extra.

My little clusters would shatter again.

I was no longer able to see my old life again.

The puzzle pieces were scattered on the table.

How do I get back to my old life?

Can I?

I was trying to piece together something that will never be the same.

I will always be missing one piece to my puzzle; to my life.


I must take those millions of pieces and start something new.

The gloves come off.

The blindfold is lifted.

I needed to start living my life without you.

We will not be creating memories.

You are now a memory.

My life looks different now.

I put the puzzle back in the box and open a new one.

The pieces are cut the same way.

They fit together the same way.

The clusters start to connect.

This isn’t the puzzle I wanted to put together.

But this is my life now.

This puzzle is for you to see.

To be proud of.

RIP Dad. Forever missed.