It had been a year since the library. A year since I turned the corner and saw Daniel and, instead of stopping and talking to him, I kept walking. Instead of giving him a chance to explain or apologize or whatever it was he wanted to do, I just nodded and walked on by. It had been the first time I had publicly declared myself to be my own person, in my own life, choosing my own path.
That summer I sat on my apartment balcony in Seattle with a coffee and a journal, thinking about all the ways my life had changed, or rather, not changed, and how I had accepted all the ways it had.
I was happy. I was thriving. I was single.
