She walked with the lightness of a woman who had lost, recovered — after a dead cat’s bounce — and was taking on the world on her own terms. Steering clear from fuckboys, and having no patience for the neediness of nice guys. She occupied a space as big as her heart needed to be. She offered no apologies for living, for breathing, for loving. She was standing on a mountain of past sorrow, and o God, she was enjoying the view.