" At first, it’s like you’re walking around with this gaping wound in your chest, and it seems impossible that no one else can see it. Every time they pretend not to, you want to scream. But then, if they actually do notice, you don’t even want to think about the pain, much less talk about it. Try to explain it. Nothing you do will quicken the process or dull it, either. You just have to survive moment to moment, day to day, until one morning you wake up and it hurts a little less. There are setbacks, of course—you’ll have a thought or see something that reminds you of him, and it’s like you picked at the scab. But it does eventually fade… into a scar. "