Once upon a time, she would wake in the morning and he, for whatever reason, would be there – and inevitably he would say something that would cause her to scowl, and then scowl deeper when he patted her head, placating. (This when she would stalk away, leaving him grinning idiotically and trailing after her, participants in a one-sided game of follow the leader.)
Once upon a time, she would wake in the morning and immediately begin devising ways in which to avoid him – paths and patterns that he, without fail, would somehow decipher and so continue in his dogged pursuit of her. (But where he was willing to follow, she would lead, and now she is not so sure if their game was entirely as unwilling as she once thought.)
Once upon a time, she would wake in the morning without his absence eating a hole in her heart, without a lump in her throat and a weight on her chest, without feeling like she is living life underwater and the breath in her lungs is heavy and sharp as steel.
Once upon a time.
(And so she reduces herself to cold efficiency and harsh words, fury and anguish stifled and bottled away to serve as fuel for some higher purpose that she does not yet grasp, and tries very hard to forget.)