Knowledge is cumulative; that much I know. A piece here, a piece there, and soon the puzzle builds upon itself and I reap the high of that discovery. And though there will always be more to learn, each acquisition brings a joy, however fleeting and momentary – the sensation that indeed, we can learn it all, know it all, feel a part of it all.
But then, there lies the crushing downfall too. There are pieces I am missing. Pieces I can’t access. It’s not the 999 pieces already in place that counts, it’s just that last thousandth. Why does completeness matter so to me? Can’t I find satisfaction in the overwhelming rest?
Maybe it’s for the better I do not know. After all, what would knowing what I don’t right now for that one puzzle achieve? Other puzzles wait ahead. But hell, nostalgia is a force too strong, a mystery too compelling to outright dismiss even as I pretend otherwise.
This is sounding too much of a jumbled mess. My eyes are giving in to slumber. Perhaps pick up the pondering train on the other side of consciousness…as if I could do otherwise.