She sits very still.
She just read and re-read it. She feels a pit.
She is freshly reminded why she prefers to stay existentially alone. That there is good reason she keeps a variety of lovers in various states and boroughs.
She thinks to herself, "Trust is a sentimental Cliche."
She looks down and sees that her plastic disposable yogurt container is empty. "I should throw this away now," she thinks. She gets up and wanders to the kitchen and in the hallway bursts into a regrettable mess of tears and tenderheartedness. She sits down because of a dizzy spell. She sobs and screams and kicks at nothing like a child with a headache. Snot mixes with her tears and meanders down to her mouth where it tastes salty. She gets up and throws away the disposable plastic yogurt container.
She sits again. Very still.
She calls one of said lovers. Plans for the night are made. She will have violent, loud sex with him. She will not want to cuddle afterwards. She will say "go away," and roll over. She will stare at the wall and hold very still.