I can lie to my friends and I can lie to my family and I can lie to those during my lunch break. I can put on a good show for those in the supermarket or my children or pretend really well when asked.
I can go about the mechanical replications and repetitions that mark my normal routine and to the outside observer I seem calm, collected, together, if not happy at the very least not miserable.
I can rearrange paintings, buy new candles, paint a wall and move everything to make it seem like he was never here. I can put one foot in front of the other, go to work, and contribute to society.
I can keep what's eating me alive concealed from the world because that is the complicit contract, isn’t it? Everyone has their own problems to worry about. Someone can always top mine, so hey, who am I to add to the collective angst?
My question is: When does it stop being so hard? So gut wrenching awful? When can putting one foot in front of the other become an easy task again. That smiling and responding, "I am good" becomes the truth again?