I feel like a puzzle.

Ever since that fateful day, when a single call changed a bright sunny day.

It’s difficult to explain how it feels – at first, I felt like I was hit by a boulder that disappeared immediately. Then I couldn’t explain how I felt afterwards; I couldn’t even understand how I felt.

Was I trying to push it to the back of my mind? No, I talked about it almost every day. Was I trying to convince myself that it didn’t happen? No, I don’t think so.

So how did I feel? The first few days I would find myself thoughtless – as if in a trance, and I would think of things that I didn’t remember a minute later. 
I would go to sleep afterwards, and everything would be fine. Then I’d wake up, and for a split second, I forgot it had happened. Then I’d realise that something is off with the air around me, and it would all come rushing back like a whirlwind. Like a black hole that appeared out of nowhere, all happiness would suddenly be sucked away.
I feel like a puzzle. That’s the only way I can explain how I feel and how I’m taking it. I feel like a puzzle missing one piece.

You know that you lost the piece – but it’s not in the house. The picture has been completed, but it’s missing one tiny piece. Everyone can see what the picture is, but it’s an eyesore – a constant irritation because of that one missing piece. Do you know what happens when you lose money on the street? You acknowledge that it’s lost – gone – but you still unconsciously look for it even when it’s hopeless. That is how it feels to lose that one piece. You know that it is not coming back, but there’s still that part of you that keeps hoping it will pop up somewhere – that it was never really gone, it was only ever lost. Although it is pointless. You can only hold on to the hope that one day you will get used to it – that it is inevitable that everyone will come to look at the picture – notice that there is a missing piece, but be able to move on without feeling a dip in their heart.

That is how I feel – I’m a puzzle with a missing piece.