Now for another bit of “Love Story.”

I was intimidated by the idea, but we both knew what we were doing was necessary for the relationship to survive. Before you, they all told me I was beautiful. All of them.

That’s how they came into my life. A series of men and women I claimed to love since I first began. I don’t know whether they were hideous or not. I just knew they were there, looking at me.

They came near me because they thought I was pretty. That’s why they wanted to be close, though they never knew the real color of my hair. Or the real color of my skin. The actual shape of my eyes, my lips.

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For those years, I believed there was no other way. That all love was visual. That loving meant looking. That being loved was being seen.

In the mornings, I woke before they did. I was always vigilant. And tired. If they woke before me, I covered my face with blankets or a pillow case.

If I felt daring, I covered their eyes: a shirt pulled around their temples, my hands against their faces.

Then I disappeared to the bathroom or my car. I couldn’t be seen without my mask fully painted on.

Everywhere I went, even to the corner store for groceries, I would bring my backpack with me. In it, I carried a plastic bag full of make-up.

The works. No part of my face would go unclothed. I was getting desperate. The labor was intense. It took time to get my face on, to replicate its contours with consistency. To not be a new person accidentally.

Cracks in the plastic would never be tolerated. And the flawed ones couldn’t be loved.

A layer of pancake foundation. A layer of another industrial-strength foundation.

Photo credit: Being brilliant for Sara Lando is like breathing for the rest of us. Her book, Faceless, is for sale.

I was about to tell you many things to introduce this snippet. I know that at one point when I sat down, I thought they would illustrate something about my motivation for different sections of “Love Story.”

Now I just think I had too many steroids, and that you’re perfectly able to determine metaphors and my hang-ups on the vicissitudes of being embodied.

More from “Love Story” (and from my ongoing fears, of course). Prior installation here.

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I knew I didn’t look real: I looked desirable. There was a difference. Everything that threatened to burst out - a blemish here, a hair - constrained under impeccable smoothness.

I could find myself again, know myself, and ultimately be able to face others. I had to maintain it during the day, keep my eye make-up from smudging, my lipstick from disappearing.

I had to make it to a mirror on time. The backpack grew heavier.

I always thought I knew what the ideal was for me, but I never dreamed of anything like you. I knew that I should trust you, that this was really love.

You explained that by blinding you, you wouldn’t be as desirable to others as you were sighted. Potential lovers would be afraid you’d become a burden.

They wouldn’t realize how you lived in the world through your hands and ears. They’d be afraid you’d grow dependent on them.

They would feel bad about not helping enough and wanting lives of their own. But with us, it was different.

We really needed each other, and we could make it work as long as we could talk it out. Communication is at the heart of every committed couple.

Some people told us we lived by the cliches, that we would be burned by them. You couldn’t see what they were talking about, so I decided to ignore them too. They just didn’t understand that relationships are all about compromise.

Honesty was the key to our relationship. You thought a screwdriver would probably be best to dig out your eyes. You said I should manipulate my pharmacist friend into giving me some heavy-duty painkillers.

I agreed that whatever tool we used would be your decision, but I felt put off about manipulating a friend. It just seemed wrong.

You explained that I had to have priorities, that our relationship had to come first in my life. We knew cooperation was the best remedy for every problem.

How could we ever make it as a couple if I didn’t learn to cope with some of the more uncomfortable things in life?

…SNIP…

You and I set the date, and we thought together about things you might like to see before you became blind. We threw out some ideas: the Grand Canyon, the ocean, your mother, the Museum of Modern Art, but you didn’t really respond to any of them.

You said you were ready for this, that the sort of things that mattered the most to you - feeling forms, making shapes, hearing music - never included your sight anyway. You didn’t need to see things.

You needed to know them in the way you knew me, beyond the mere appearance.

keep knowing-funny medical team names

You grew quiet and explained you were doing something for me because you loved me, and that you would like me to do something for you.

Since I asked if there was anything you wanted to see, you said you were finally going to tell me the truth…