Missing piece.

My missing piece is 3000 miles away. I am no longer in search of one person to fill this “void” I thought was inside of me for so long. I found what was missing.

It’s amazing. Only a few days spent with people, who seem like absolute strangers on the outside, could make me feel more whole than I have ever felt my entire life. My missing piece isn’t one person. It’s composed of a bunch of smaller pieces, that when put together makes me feel a million times better, and more full than I ever could have imagined.

I can’t stop thinking about Washington. Specifically that one house with the Olympic Mountains painted in the background. I can’t stop thinking about the people who love me unconditionally that I finally really got to see. And I wish I could be more involved with their children’s lives.

So many sappy posts about how much family means. But when it’s been missing, and you finally realize that their little pieces are the perfect fit inside yourself, it means even more.