Deconstructed

by Liz Talley

That I would not just let life happen to me but instead direct my life toward something better.

Yeah, falling out of love was like cleaning a window you didn’t know was dirty. Suddenly things were so clear.

Paper people are consumed by fire, dissipating into ash before scattering into the wind, never to be whole again. But others, those made of steel, used the fire to forge an edge. The heat hardened them, creating razor determination, melding them into something stronger.

I could ignore the marks and scars on the white walls because I knew what that felt like. I had them, too.

They turned to one another and discussed golfing, which was more boring than timing a centipede crossing the kitchen, which was something I had done weeks ago when I was mourning my marriage. Seemed twenty-six minutes and a few seconds in change was the winning number. And then Pippa had come in and promptly eaten the centipede, which seemed like a very unfair reward for the creature reaching its goal.

I should have taken the UPS guy with his potbelly and no butt. No one would have looked twice at him, bless his heart.

Sometimes you gotta fix what’s behind you so you can look in front of you.