I started writing about something else, but somehow ended up writing about my wife. About the distance I know she feels, the battles happening inside my head, and the guilt of loving someone deeply while not always knowing how to show it. This is for her, in case she ever finds it.

That look in the mirror is not the same as when you are dressed, or when you are dressing up to leave the house for a friend's birthday party. This is different. You are looking — or perhaps staring — at yourself, nowhere to hide, and before you even say anything you play with your facial muscles, expressing all sorts of emotions, trying to find the person you are, or the one you once knew very well. The person who would be either proud of you or ashamed of what you have beco