If there's a reason for everything then maybe walking on the sidewalk where her old friend was shot would persuade the reason to smack her in the face. Or shoot her in the shoulder. She doesn't think she'd care either way, just that she found reasoning and that it made sense.
She used to believe that you made your own fate, but somehow she can't find it in herself to rely on that anymore. If it had been true, then she should have been the one to lose her body but not her soul. She thinks that fate must have been in a pretty shitty mood when it took Alex; what kind of fucker throws the mistakes of a person's past onto the person's lover? Two nights and four hours ago she realized that she didn't care any longer. Now she's not sure if she's numb or drunk.
She has a random sock on top of her dresser. It doesn't fit her. Her feet are too damn long and wide to fit into that sucker. Every night she tries to put it on and every night she fails. In the back of her mind, she thinks that once she can accomplish the impossible then the impossibility of return that lingers around her soul will become possible. She thinks this, and even though it makes little sense, it's comforting.
And if you can't find happiness, then at least find a comfortable bed to sleep in.