I spoke with my therapist today.
We discussed how I have been doing puzzles lately.
I told him I had completed two so far, and that I had another one at the ready.
He then proceeded to ask me what I did at the end, when the puzzle was all finished.
He stated that he didn’t understand the fascination. Insomuch that one spends so much time carefully surveying the scattered pieces, looking for the correct one to fit into a specific spot, at times for hours on end.
Once it is completed, he asked if I ceremoniously take all my "hard work" apart in order to place it back into the box that it came from.
I told him that I couldn't recall the manner in which I took apart puzzles, and that I had never quite given it much thought.
He mentioned how silly it seems, to spend so much time piecing together an image to know that its fate rests in being taken apart once again.
"And so is life," I said.
