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Life wasn't supposed to look like this.

She wasn't supposed to be 27. Wasn't supposed to be falling, crying, dying, to be someone else. To feel something different, more.

The door opened to an apartment that felt like a guest room, a life that felt borrowed. She maneuvered past boxes, still filled with her new, single, life, and sank onto the couch, not bothering to drop her purse or kick off her shoes.

Leaving had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, and the most inevitable.

Because once someone offered the ideal, it was hard to remain stagnant. She'd tried. She'd clung to normal and comfortable and easy.

But comfortable began to gnaw and easy became excruciating.

Saying, "I love you," was painful. Charged with habit and expectation, instead of desire or truth.

She wasn't looking for sparks (even though she'd felt them).

It was about being a part of something bigger than herself. Being challenged and supported. Laughing with abandon and being understood... without always having to explain.

She wanted someone who "got" her.

And someone did.

But it wasn't the person she'd made promises to. The one she'd built a life with.

She'd been so focused on what they used to be - what they'd planned to be - she hadn't seen who they'd become. She wasn't sure when Roy lost her - when she'd let go - but she had.

She decided it began before Jim. Before he broke her foundation with his eyes and smile and way, because at some point, she'd started to love the idea of someone else... before she'd ever even met him.

Life wasn't supposed to look like this.

She wasn't supposed to feel hopeful over broken engagements.  Or consumed with possibility.

But she was.