Broken-Hearts are for Later

She had hoped for something better, but as always is the case, it was never her decision to make. Here she was now, at 28, staring down that inevitable tunnel that was soon to be 30 only a year and 3 months away. Her plans for her 29th birthday, still undecided.

The melancholy, velvety melodies of Lana del Rey were now her daily drug of choice as she attempted to cope with yet another break-up. As she contemplated yet another heartache. Despite all logic and reason she could not help feeling as though she had brought it all upon herself. As if she had walked into the lion's den knowingly in harm's way. Though to think she could have been such a masochist was more than she was willing to accept. No one wants to hurt, she had thought time and time again. And yet, she was in the same familiar situation. When had emotional recovery become her talent of choice?

Perhaps, if the day had not been so brilliant, so warm, so promising, perhaps a break-up would have been more bearable. At least under the guise of a grey day she could justify the sadness that now painted her features, her mahogany eyes now shone bluer than the cerulean waves of a Mediterranean sea. In the summer glare of a late-July sun, she only appeared more out of place than she already felt. 

She would owe her friends an apology, for they had gone above and beyond that which most would, in the hopes of helping her heal. Their efforts were not in vain, for they were greatly appreciated, if only a temporary fix. The healing process would take more than a few drinks could hoped to fix. 

She rolled over, the alarm blaring in her hears had now been going for well over a minute. She sighed deeply, it was time to put on that face... the one the world expected to see. She could be broken-hearted later.

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Just a writing test run. I'm a bit out of practice.