There’s
a face staring back at her from the mirror,
The
face of a person she doesn’t know.
Her
eyes are sad,
Hardened
by life.
Who
is she?
Her
youthful joy’s been replaced by resignation.
The
mistakes. The pain. The past.
Haunted
by all that should have been but wasn’t.
Still,
her life is not a complete failure.
She
raised a family,
But
she rarely sees them now that they’re grown.
“If
you don’t hear from them, that means you did your job right.”
She
finds little comfort in those words.
She
lives in a lonely world, feeling forgotten.
She’s
never been good at being a friend,
At
being a wife,
And
maybe even at being a mother, daughter, sister…
Maybe
that’s why she’s alone.
“You
made your bed, now you must lie in it,” they say.
Who
is this person staring back at her from the mirror?
With
hair that’s going grey,
With
lines and wrinkles interrupting the appearance of youth,
With
eyes that speak of loneliness and sorrow…
Without
saying a word.
Where
did the joy go? The zest for life? The hope?
The faith in those stars?
When
did she stop being a dreamer?
When
did I grow so old?
