But often, I found myself wondering why and how. Why it was always peculiarly perfect, and how managed to make it so. I never found the answer. Or a clue to the answer.
So I started questioning myself. Maybe it was I who had the problem. Who was the problem. And then I started punishing myself for not being able to measure up.
Today, as I opened the door that only last night, he had shut, I found the answer. It has been right there all along, waiting to face me.

