ever so delicately
just along the foggy pane of the bathroom glass.
She carves a line on the mirror
the condensed water dripping like dew
from the tip of her finger.
Tracing the reflection of the lines
curving out from her eyes.
Wondering which worries have caused them…
Worries that matter.
Worries that don’t .
I yearn to whisper to her,
you’re missing it.