A Puzzle

A broken memory is a puzzle.
A million scattered pieces
Litter the floor of your mind,
Sitting there, staring at you,
Eyeless but all-seeing,
Waiting for you to put them together.
And all of the pieces do fit together,
You just don't quite know how.
You have to turn and move them around,
Trying every piece with every piece
Until you get a match and you celebrate.
You place the matches aside
And work on the other pieces,
Again trying each piece with all the others,
And you continue on,
Even if it takes you hours, days, to solve it.
Finally, you fit the matching pieces together,
And start filling in the blank spots with the rest.
You're done, and you look down at the memory
That once was broken. But it's fixed now,
And you stare at it, remembering all the time,
All the effort it took to piece it back together.
And as you stare at this newly repaired memory,
You realize that, after all your work,
It doesn't mean anything.
It is useless, meaningless, and you weep
At the thought of your heart being put
Into this puzzle, only to be ripped out.
But you fixed it.
Connected the pieces, filled in the blanks.
You fixed what was once broken and helpless
And gave it life again. And you smile.
You smile because it does mean something,
Something important, and you let that
Sliver of happiness hold you, support you.
And you sit there, staring at that memory,
Watching it, feeling it, living it.
And you smile.