He struggles with the puzzle. His hands can't find the pieces.

Already he knows it's not the answer he's looking for. The bits he's assembled show a picture of a man at a table. He's leaning over something: small brightly colored bits.

It's a man assembling a puzzle. It's him, assembling his puzzle.

This isn't the answer, he thinks. This isn't what I wanted.

A voice comes from behind him. "Try taking pieces away."

Away?

He tries it. One by one, he takes pieces from the puzzle and throws them back in the box.

Strangely, the picture never grows any less complete. But it changes.

If this is it, he says. If this is the answer. What was the question? I've forgotten the question.

In the presence of the Answer, all questions unask themselves. Nothing left but a box of puzzle pieces.

Look! They're all blank.

Love...ever unsatisfied, lives always in the moment that is about to come. :)