I could not find the last piece of the puzzle.

It was not in the box. It was not on the floor. It was not nestled in the blanket I had been using. I checked everywhere–under the couch, under the rest of the puzzle, in my pocket, in my cat’s litter box. It was nowhere to be found

My mind could not rest. Where could it have possibly gone? Perhaps the manufacturer forgot a piece, leaving my puzzle incomplete before I even opened the box. It was just a puzzle, but whenever I had a free moment, a little silence, I found my thoughts wandering in that direction. I would see a glimpse of blue while sipping my coffee in the morning, stand up to examine it, sit back down disappointed. Just a Lego block. In the car on the way to work–a flash of cerulean in my cup holder. Stopped at a red light, I looked closer. An old wrapper. In the kitchen making dinner, a stray blueberry makes me pause. The slightest bit of blue makes me wonder, is it my missing piece?

It is not. My last piece is still missing.

It infiltrates my dreams. I imagine outlandish scenarios: the piece hides just out of reach, like Tantalus’ fruit. Each time I reach for it in my sleep, it leaps away, taunting me. I wake up frustrated, unable to appreciate the beauty of the rest of the puzzle.

The next night I dream it comes to life. In my nightmare it befriends the other puzzle pieces, then lures them away from the puzzle, one by one. I watch in dismay as my entire puzzle crumbles. When I rise, I harbor great disdain, almost hatred, for the puzzle. Rather than bringing me joy, its imperfection haunts me.

My friend comes to visit.

“Why are you so irritable lately?”

I explain my dilemma. He laughs, thinking it a joke. I do not laugh. He realizes how afflicted I am. He thinks while I pout.

“You know, puzzles are supposed to be fun. One piece being gone should not diminish the beauty you see, or the amusement you had while putting it together.”

I scowl.

“Quit sitting around waiting for God himself to fix it and do something productive instead. The puzzle isn’t going to magically fill in the empty space. You gotta put in some effort and energy.”

The next day, my friend brings me a puzzle piece. It is clearly homemade. Swirls of azure have been painted on a piece of cardboard. My friend walks inside, going directly to the table where the puzzle lies. I watch in awe as he carefully puts the puzzle piece in the empty space. Just that little bit of effort fixed it. The puzzle is finally done. I take a step back and admire it. It really is a beautiful puzzle.