(no subject)
It was more than a feeling of obligation, I think. At least I hope it was. I hope it was my own missing piece. If it was, I didn't know it right then, just as you don't know what you're looking at when you reach for the funny gray shape behind the sofa cushion, you don't know what you're looking at until you turn it right side up and recognize that silly, missing piece of sky. Or ocean. Or flower petal. Then you know. If the puzzle is set up someplace, on the kitchen table or the patio floor, you hurry over, pop it in. There. Hah. You feel almost ridiculously satisfied. And if the puzzle has been taken apart and put away, you go to the closet, slip the piece into the box, satisfied to know that should you ever think to assemble that puzzle again - even knowing you won't, probably, not until you're an old lady with nothing better to do - you will have everything you need to reconstruct the picture exactly.