“Do you think this will ever stop?” I ask, and he turns around.
My voice almost a whisper: “The pain?”
“I don’t know . . . I’d like to think it will, though. Time heals . . . most wounds,” he answers and gives me his most comforting half smile, half frown.
I don’t know if time will heal me or not. But I do know that if it doesn’t, I won’t survive.