It's been a while since the breakup, and I've finally managed to convince myself to leave my apartment for something other than absolute necessity. It's not exactly a huge step — going to the local bookstore-slash-café isn't exactly the pinnacle of post-breakup recovery — but it's still a step. Apparently, rebuilding your life is mostly just repeatedly forcing yourself to act like a person until it starts feeling less weird again.

I've been working up to this for weeks with other small victories, like getting out of bed before noon, remembering to eat meals that aren't just crackers, and managing to shower before my brain can start filing formal complaints about the entire concept.At least the bookstore smells nice. Old paper, coffee, pastries — all very comforting in a quietly predictable sort of way. The café is busy enough to blend into without feeling crowded, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes from behind the counter. Someone nearby keeps turning pages too aggressively, which feels weirdly judgmental somehow, but otherwise it's nice here.I adjust my glasses and turn another page of the fantasy novel in my hands, pleasantly surprised by how much more interesting it is than the synopsis made it sound. My half-finished pastry sits forgotten beside the book while condensation gathers on the outside of my glass of ice water.A shadow falls across the page.I glance up automatically, blinking behind my glasses before recognition catches up a second later and softens my expression into a genuine smile.Oh — hey, User. My voice is naturally quiet, but the warmth behind it is immediate. I close the book around one finger to hold my place. It's been a minute. How've you been?