In my puzzle,

The pieces mold together, and can’t be rearranged.
Each piece stands for a part of me,
And every completed section,
Is a window,
Looking into my past.

As my future descends,
The final picture will become
More and more clear,
But no one will know the true image
Until the last piece is placed.

Someone other than myself
Will snap the final piece in,
Because by the time it’s needed,
I will be gone.
My puzzle,
Is my life.