New York City, November, 1999
I've come to recognize that quiver in your chin and the way you stare up at the sky just before the tears begin to well in your eyes. I've come to recognize what will cause even the slightest slip.
I've tried to tiptoe around your truths and whistle past your sad sighs. But I'm afraid I've not always done this well and my impatience matches yours as you wonder when everything will be alright.
You see, there is no time limit on a broken heart, no stopwatch counting seconds, hours, weeks. Who can say how long it takes to erase the imprint another has made on your skin or on your soul? Who can say when you will cease to carry him with you every moment of every day?
Not even you. Not even you.
You've heard all of the lines by now. I've given you all of my sad stories and absorbed all of your heartaches. We've repeated those self-empowering mantras each and every day.
Believe, K, that it will get better little by little, until this raw and gaping pain I see etched upon your face and weighted on your shoulders is nothing but a distant memory.
In the meantime I'll be here to pull you up when you need it, to make you laugh when you don't want to, and to dry your tears or just cry along with you because I know how you feel.
Before you know it, one day will pass when you don't think about him at all and you will know what it feels like to be living in your own skin, that vibrant heart of yours beating whole, just under the surface.