I wanted him to wait and I wanted to be the thing he was waiting for.

My life, and what I did with it, became a sort of mystery then.

My concentrating face required more effort than genuine concentration. The organisation of the face, the setting up of the features, was exhausting. Afterwards, I often lay down on the cold tiles of the office bathroom floor and didn't move for hours.

I was such a good girlfriend, god damn it. It was an outrage how lovely I was.

After that, there was emptiness. Some wandering around, eating not-good stuff out of bags, doughnuts, Taco Bell. Enough loneliness to make you lose your mind.

It was hard to know who to be minute by minute.

What have I done to deserve this life?

I promised myself this would all end, at some point or another.

I thought I would be a different person by this time in my life, but I was actually becoming less like someone else and more like myself.

This mental unraveling happened at no great speed. Even the catastrophe of my own life was something I managed with amazing slowness.