I knew when I saw her, ran into her in the bank. I was leaving, she was entering.

I knew then, that she was being brave.

That waking up that morning, assembling a coordinating outfit, that was bravery.

When I looked into her eyes, I saw the carefully placed eye liner.  That was brave.

Have you lived that kind of life yet?

Where, to get out of bed, to put feet to the floor, to look in the mirror and apply shiny substances to your lips and dark trimmings to your eyes equals a legitimate act of bravery.  Of hope.  Not of Pretend – but of Promise.  Not of Wishful, but of Trying.

And not trying to put on a show or gloss over the terrible.  Just —- trying.  Trying to gather one’s self to face the next day, the next step, the next breath.  To believe the mantra – fake it till you make it.  Which, is sometimes a death sentence and sometimes the only way to cope.

It’s both.  Sometimes.

And I wanted to hug her neck, which I did.

And I wanted to say all these words I was thinking, which I did not.

So I am saying them now.

You are brave.

And I see you being brave.

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