it can't be right for everyone

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She called me from far away. There was pain in her voice and a cry in the back of her throat. She fought it as she talked but her tears traveled many miles and streamed down my own cheeks. I listened and my heart only wanted to be by hers.

Their words were painful. Their judgments harsh. They opened healing wounds with cutting words. She was bleeding. Very badly. I found my own scars opening, too. 

My consoling thoughts were just as much for me as for her. Neither one said it, but each of us knew. "They don't understand. How could they understand?" And they didn't. And they won't. And they probably never will. 

So I tried to explain how to stitch the skin, not getting too close to the edge. Pull tight and make a clean cut. Bite down and count until the tears leave your eyes. 

Try not to think about what they will say.