life is a puzzle.

While you're in your mother's stomach, the pieces are being put together and once it is complete, you are born. everything matches perfectly and not even a strand of hair is out of place. Slowly though, the edges of the puzzles begin to fall apart. bits and pieces, here and there. sometimes we're able to find the missing pieces, but as we attempt to fix the puzzle, it still looks wrong. what's missing is missing. we continue to search for a replacement, but nothing ever works. however, we can still make out the picture, so i guess everything is okay. sometimes though an unexpected angry little kid can come along and smash the entire puzzle... then everything is chaotic and messy. the picture can no longer be seen anymore. the pieces cant be put back together. nothing is in its right place. all the years of trying to mend things back together has gone to waste. whats broken is broken. the lost dont get found.

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Herman Blume: “What’s the secret, Max?”
Max Fischer: “The secret?”
Herman Blume: “Yeah, you seem to have it pretty figured out.”
Max Fischer: “The secret, I don’t know… I guess you’ve just gotta find something you love to do and then… do it for the rest of your life. For me, it’s going to Rushmore.”