Puzzle

Cold, the company of words. And we spill our thoughtless musings on the table, clamouring for them in the dark,
reaching for a sharpended edge, a notch, a wedge, hurrying our busy fingers around shapeless fragments, until by
some improbable miracle, a deformed nub fits into its complimentary gap. Half-mad with hope and driven by destiny,
we grasp at pieces of cardboard in the dark.