It comes from nowhere.  But there you are, sitting alone, feeling its loneliness.  Your head feels heavy, pulsing with a quiet headache that Advil is powerless against.  You want to be hugged, to smell the sweet comfort of his deodorant and feel the softness of his sweatshirt; you’re fidgeting and confined and want to be released.  Impatience flairs up inside you, quick as fire.  You start to think unfiltered thoughts.  What is working, what isn’t?  Maybe you are as stuck, stalled-out, unmoving as you feel.  Maybe he isn’t the one for you; maybe this isn’t the place for you; what happened to her, and him, those few who understood you once.  Why can’t you just decide?  Why do you need to decide right now?  Why can’t you control this uncertainty?  When did this room become your bedroom; where is your old wallpaper; what happens to a place once it stops being your home?  You wonder where your parents went, and when they left you alone to entertain other opinions, to grow up.  You’re overwhelmed by everything you used to be, wondering where it went, who you’ll become, and why the road between feels so impossible.

And then you excuse yourself to the ladies room and look down at the dark red stain and think, oh.