I’m good, thanks. My stock response. Sometimes true, mostly false, but what else am I supposed to say?
The question ‘how are you?’ asked with no care, no consideration. A platitude, a lubricant.
How would you react if I told you I was heartbroken, grieving? Told you I was wounded, confused, angry, drowning? That the brain fog is slowing me down? That sometimes, subconsciously, I forget. That the remembering is like the 7th, that day, that moment all over again. That sometimes I wish I wasn’t good, thanks, because that would mean that our relationship, mine and his, was normal. Like yours.
But I won’t do that to you so yeah, I’m good, thanks. And you?
Ify