You look at your phone, and the words in the grey box stare back at you.

“It’s over. I’m sorry. Just wasn’t feeling it. You understand. You’re a great person, and I know you’ll find that special one!”

You set the phone down in the comforter, thinking that your drunken blue boxes from last night are already embarrassing enough, especially since they stopped responding Saturday. You don’t even remember how many texts you sent. There’s at least one too-long paragraph for a thing that only lasted a month. You want to throw the phone, but that’s expensive. Puffing out some air while setting it firmly on your nightstand would have to do; it’s the one they helped you pick out on your IKEA date.

You rub your temples and pinch your nose as you do the morning ritual. Sit on the bed and wake up from the waking up. Time to go to work, in the Monday-est state you’ve ever had. Your body feels heavy, and your head is foggy. The shower helps to lighten your muscles and bones, and the morning news from your smart speaker burns the fog away in anger at something a senator said about nothing.