It was three years to the day.
He walked by as I stood staring at myself in the bathroom mirror.
A simple question broke me down like a feather knocking over an elephant:
“How are you?”
My stoic exterior crumbled and I began to sob uncontrollably. I realized I had been avoiding him, hoping I could just get through the day without making any kind of big deal about it. But that one question was the only one I couldn’t handle. And so I lost it. I lost control of my tough girl shell and I let it hit me again. Only this time it was the first time in front of him.
Somehow he knew I didn’t want to be held, I just needed space. Space to cry. And soon I was able to gain my composure.
“Will it always be like this?,” he asked, “Will it be this way every year?”
“I don’t know,” I said…
“But what if it is? Will you still love me even if I never get fixed?”