The Edge of Falling

by Rebecca Serle

Heroes are rare.

It’s the way he so clearly identifies humanity. It’s crisp and sharp. Like iceberg lettuce, or a knife. You don’t know whether you want to bite into it or use it to cut through something.

When someone breaks up with you they should take their memories with them. It shouldn’t be possible to remember someone when they’re no longer there.

I was wrong about lying. It’s not easy; it’s hard. It weighs on you—every single untruth. They build and grow, like weeds in a garden. They take over. They knot things down and snuff them out. Just one can ruin a field of flowers.

In the end, when the building burns, you’re still left with your own pieces. Your own shattered picture frames. You have to pick up what is yours—choose to carry it, bury it, or say good-bye.