She sits in a subway, a black acoustic guitar on her lap. She strums a few melancholy chords, and some people look at her as if she’s an alien.

She pays them no heed, but continues tuning her guitar. The ebony surface of the instrument gleams in the harsh glare of the lights overhead, and suddenly she wishes she were home—home in Washington, with her mother and a cup of milk and honey.

Shaking her head, she stops daydreaming and starts playing a song.

The grime stuck in between the tiles of the floor draws her blue gaze to it constantly, and she tries not to think about how many people have passed through here and left behind more than unwanted litter.

Some passers-by stop to listen, and the rhythm of the song becomes more pronounced.

She looks up, and with a jolt, she recognizes him in the crowd; the same one who had tossed her heart away like it was nothing more than a piece of broken glass.

Her cobalt eyes harden, and she sings louder.

“So much for my happy ending…”