A year ago, I had a thousand reasons to wake up: the sunshine peering through my window, the commotion out in the streets, the adventures awaiting for me, the million things I had to do and him. Now, a year from then, I hate the sun, the traffic, the unexpected surprises, the tasks and him.

I stumble out of bed, groggy and weary, shielding my eyes from the incandescent light outside my window. I follow my morning routine, mindlessly, not bothering to pay attention if I slip in the shower or if I don’t remove all traces of morning breath. I head to my closet, clothes scattered everywhere, some I should have bothered to throw away but I never got around to. I grab some washed out jeans and t-shirt. I’m just going to work, a job that had been my passion and now what? It’s something I just do to pay my bills, rent and food. I don’t bother to eat out anymore. I stopped with that. Besides, I can never blend in with the people in those places. They’re always laughing, sometimes with no reason. A lot of people just think I’m bitter. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I don’t like to think about it anymore. I’ve stopped thinking. I just let myself sink into the eerie silence , into the gravel sidewalks, into the world.