It had been a normal day, and that terrified her more than anything, the days where she had nothing planned were daunting, Elizabeth knew she had to get used to being alone since her breakup, but days were long. When she was alone for a day she became restless and paced around her apartment, she might watch a tv show, but that only lasted so long to stave off her loneliness. She wasn't ready to get out there and date again yet, and she did spend more time with friends, but still couldn't fill every day with friends and distractions.

She resigned to getting comfortable, working on herself, being more creative, rediscovering passions. She had been trying to journal, but her mind felt cloudy and she would end up writing about the same thing every time, being alone and lonely, and how she was going to be ok. It became her journal of reassurance, writing little encouragements to herself hoping that if she wrote it enough times it would become the truth.

She lay on her bed waiting for something to come to her, but she felt numb, there was nothing to do, she questioned why she was a person that always needed entertaining always finding it difficult to be content with the world around her. Even as a child she was always trying to convince her brother to play with her, though she was great with people, she was a homebody, and to be a homebody, part of you has to be ok with being alone, so why, she wondered, was it so freaking hard?

She continued to stare at the ceiling and looked for shapes in the popcorn plaster, constellations above her head. A rabbit, a dragon, a mouse. She listened to the clock in the kitchen ticking, the gentle tick of the second hand moving, the minute hand moving a little louder, the sound mocked her, dragging along, a constant reminder of how long a day actually is. She went to the kitchen and made some coffee, and began staring into the face of the clock, her face in a grimace, watching the seconds pass by was even more painful than the sound. The clock face shattered brown liquid pooling on the floor. She looked down at her hand and realized that she had flung her full coffee mug into the clock. Silence, she took in a deep breath and started to cry.

She grabbed a dishrag and knelt down cleaning up the mess that she created, happy to have the reminder finally removed from her house. She picked up the broken pieces of her clock and put them in the trash, the glass making little tinkling sounds as it bounced off the ceramic mug. Tears were still streaming down her face but she was smiling anyways, she finally felt like she could breath like a weight lifting off her chest. She poured herself a new mug of coffee, grabbed her journal and sat down to write. It was more of the same thing, but it felt less like she was reassuring herself and she felt the truth in it, she will be ok.