What's So Good About Picking Up The Pieces Novels & Stories

But who am I to question the logic of a man whose best friend is his reflection in the mirror? I stagger to my feet, ignoring the pain pulsing through my ribs like a bad beat in a song that won’t stop. I bend down to clean up the mess. You know, because I’m really great at this whole “picking up shattered porcelain” thing. In fact, I should put it on my résumé: “Expert in avoiding Nick’s anger and cleaning up his messes.” But that might give him ideas for more things to break.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve known love and friendship. The where doesn’t fucking matter girl. Those are the important things you take with you. The things that fucking matter. Leave the rest of it behind.” Amber wondered if it really was just as simple as taking the good things with her and leaving the rest of her unwanted baggage behind her. Starting over with only the fucking things that mattered. Taking the pieces of her past which helped make her whole and leaving the ones that tore her down piece by piece. Like her unperfectly- perfect friendship with a rough around the edges hooker. A hooker who had loved Amber when no one else did and had her back when others only seemed to want to put a kn

"The pieces want to be home, but they get lost. You just have to give them the right sequence. If you miss one turn, the whole cube stays broken. But if you follow the sequence... it’s impossible for it not to work.” For weeks, I’d been viewing my life as a glass vase that has shattered on the floor; I am constantly trying to glue the shards back together into a shape that no longer exists. I thought I needed a miracle, or a drink. But looking at Chris, I realize I was wrong.

"The paragraph you couldn't write." "The sentence. The paragraph comes after." She paused. "Not yet. But I know the shape of it now. I couldn't see the shape before." "What's the shape?" She thought about Clare at the window. All the versions of herself she'd put down along the way, all the— "It's about what you keep," she said. "After everything that falls away. What's actually yours." She looked at Gerald, forty-three blocks north on her windowsill. "What grows back."

"What’s wrong?" "Nothing, the only way to conquer a fear is to face it. Let’s finish the puzzle together." "Okay-Doky." Happy grunted and began to play around among the fragments. With the pieces she had touched stopped moving, it became a simple repeating task; they stayed there waiting for someone to reunite them. When Sunshine put the two adjacent pieces together, the crack in the middle healed magically without leaving a trace.

My life has become a series of bad news. My eyes fell on a tiny shard of glass by the window. Determined, I walked purposefully towards it and picked it up. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel all the pains that I might have withheld. When I opened them, I slowly brought my hand up and positioned the glass shard on my wrist.

I had to start picking up the pieces of my life, and I had to start rebuilding. I took a deep breath, and I began to clean up the room. I picked up the broken vase, the shattered picture, and the overturned chair. I put everything back in its place, and I slowly started to restore order to my living room. As I cleaned, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I felt a sense of purpose, and I felt a sense of determination. I knew that I still had a long way to go, but I also knew that I was taking the first steps towards healing.

“What?” “Let me pick you up. Please. Let me do this right.” Let me do this right. As if there was a right way to put yourself back together after being shattered. As if there was a manual for learning how to trust again. But maybe that was the point. Maybe there was no right way. Maybe you just had to jump and hope someone was there to catch you. Or maybe you’d learned to catch yourself, and having someone there was just… a bonus. A gift. Something you got to choose instead of something you needed to survive.

It’s just a box, an object after all. But it has always felt more than just an object to me. It was the sound that filled the quiet moments of my life and reminded me of so much. It grounds me, puts in a better mood when I'm doing the one thing that actually makes sense in my life. It’s one of the best gifts I've ever received. I sigh and pull myself off the floor with the broken pieces, placing them gently on the table. "What could have made it fall like that? I really hope I can get it fixed."

But my trembling hands caused my favorite wine glass to fall onto the floor and shatter into a million glistening pieces. "Goddammit!" I cried piercingly, kneeling down as if I could possibly put the glass together again. But who am I fooling—I can't fix it. I can't glue these broken pieces together, no matter how hard I try; I'll only make my hands bloody and spend time trying to fix something that's unfixable. What I can do? I can stare at the mess until I get a broom and throw what has become of my favorite wine glass away in the trash, accepting the fact that it can never be mended again.