"Sent," I whispered.

I remember sitting in my room, the light disappearing with the June sunset. I remember sending the email, applying for an editorial internship at the infamous Harper's Bazaar. How many times I ran my fingers over the glossy pages while waiting in line at CVS and wondered how it would feel to produce something so beautiful. Now I had the chance to actually be in the same room as the people who did.

My interview was in July. I wore a navy dress with matching flats. It was at 9:30 a.m. on a Friday. I remember my under-eyes were too real and my hair wasn't cooperating from a long work week. But somehow I showed up five minutes early. I had a little bit of luck, a sparkling copy of my resume and an apparent look of desperation.

And I got it. A double major in Journalism and Politics, and I scored an editorial internship at HB. I remember reading the email on a muggy August day and wanting to dance in the humid streets of New York. I didn't care, it was all I wanted.

I started the week after Labor Day. Apparently, there is a fashion rumor about white and the specific day that goes along with Labor: "[In] the nineteen '00s, '10s and '20s... the summer season was bracketed by Memorial Day and Labor Day. Society flocked en masse from town house to seaside "cottage" or mountain "cabin" to escape the heat. City clothes were left behind in exchange for lighter, whiter, summer costumes. Come fall and the return to the city, summer clothes were put away and more formal city clothes donned once more." However, this seems to be deemed not relevant in modern times. So, I boldly took the initiative to wear a good ole' white dress.

During my internship, I thought I would remember every single day. A few mistakes and a handful of successes would permanently stick out in my brain. But the last day I swiped out of the Hearst Building, I'm trying to recall specific moments to reflect on and the truth is, the tiny little details that seemed so apparent on a daily basis all run together into one big thing that is experience. And partially my development of lack of guilt for not going to the gym, because the fashion industry truly incorporates cardio.

Every second matters. I ran alongside Central Park and took the scenic route to hand return some jewelry 20 blocks away. I strolled on my way back to the office and remember thinking how cute some of the carriage horses were or how it was past six and how most people were wrapping up their workdays, while I was just arriving back.

I was so skilled in bubble-wrapping delicate items and filling out shipment forms that I considered taking a second job at UPS. Student debt doesn't pay itself.

The only time I ever cried was when I sent Oscar De La Renta shoes to Gucci. No one really liked me at that moment. Including me. Which is why I cried for approximately nine seconds in the elevator.

While I sometimes felt like Andie from "The Devil Wears Prada", I also felt like the dreamer inside of me was combusting. Sure, I had to do small errands and paper copying here and there. I had blisters more than I had none. I memorized the addresses of the major fashion houses and could type an email, formatted correctly, within seconds. But no task is too small.

Sometimes I would see why the clothes were getting pulled for specific shoots and what items worked and what items didn't. I would see the editors rearrange and rearrange the boards until they came out perfect.

Behind every small task is a magazine spread. Remember that.

The point of an internship is to gain experience, but also see what you like and what you don't like; what you are good and what you aren't. I found out that I am extremely quick on my feet when pushed and after nine seconds of crying. However, I don't think I am exactly cut for the fashion world.

I am not ruling fashion editorial out of my future completely. I will always run my fingers along the glossy pages while waiting in line at CVS and think could I have been one of those people who could produce one of those pages? Or would I have wanted to be?

The beauty of being an intern, a student, is not really knowing what you want to be and that being completely and utterly okay. I walked into the Hearst building everyday for nearly four months and re-introduced myself to me. I thought I was for sure going to claim the throne of Harper's Bazaar in the future. But now, that image has changed. Not because the internship was unenjoyable, but because it actually did what it was supposed to do.

In regards to myself and the fashion industry, I learned a lot and that's more than I could have ever asked for.