You don’t just love me on my good days. On my pretty days, when I have makeup on and my hair looks decent. When I’m cheerful and witty and affectionate and feeling well. You love me when no one else possibly could. You love me when I’m pale and hollow, when I haven’t laughed for days and I’ve worn the same pajamas for a week. When I curl up in my little corner of the bed and try not to think about life. When I’m irritable and ugly and bitchy and I yell at you for stupid things. When my hair is greasy and I have bags under my eyes. Those are the times when with great patience and care, you brush my hair behind my ear, kiss my forehead, and tell me,’You’re beautiful and I love you.’ That’s how I know … that’s love.