What it feels like for a girl

The day began like any other day. With the exception of the happiness seemingly all around her and the issue of that broken air conditioning and the fact that she had to pick up her belongings from the ex's apartment.

And she went through the motions. She arrived at his place, poised and together as anyone would suspect her always to be, sunglasses ready to eclipse any emotion for the man that she should be over already.

And in his absence she picked up the few things he had left for her, the three years of laughter and intimacy and friendship and yes, disagreements, that had been reduced to nothing more than a couple of boxes of books and minutae, all left outside on the pavement without a note.

Knowing full well that he probably remained unfazed, she held her head high and loaded each and every reminder into her car before driving home with the windows down and the lite radio blaring. She was still okay. She would be okay. Isn't that what everyone kept telling her? No. She should be okay.

And she scoured her apartment, tossing anything that didn't belong in her everyday. Gone were the sizes she was too small or too large for, the notes that she hadn't read in over a year, the memorabilia from trips past that no longer held any meaning.

That night in the quiet she turned to her address book, realizing quickly that most of her friends were either otherwise occupied or living lives of which she was no longer a part. And she was reminded, as if she had not been reminded enough as of late, that she was once again on her own.