HER FINGERTIPS HOVER
ever so delicately
just along the foggy pane of the bathroom glass.
Just behind.
Just behind.
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,
Stop…
you’re missing it.
ever so delicately
just along the foggy pane of the bathroom glass.
Just behind.
Just behind.
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,
Stop…
you’re missing it.
Just moments ago, I gasped my last breath
lying far away from this place
on a dark hospital bed
blanketed in the flashing lights
of a monotone computer screen.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beeeeeeep.
The early morning light
casting soft shadows across the cords trailing out
from my hand aged with time.
Knotted.
Spotted.
Empty.
Then in a glimmering instant
I stand quietly just on the other side
of my own reflection in the mirror.
Gazing into the eyes of a younger self.
Insecure.
Worried.
Doubts relentlessly taunting her
like winged demons dancing around her head.
Her judgments so swift
she doesn’t even notice
they lay across her like daggers.
She reaches out to me, pressing one hand against the glass
searching past the blurred droplets
speckled like constellations across the bathroom mirror.
But she cannot see me.
Oh, my sweet darling.
What I wouldn’t give
to tell you,
How young you still are.
How quickly the day will come
where you would give anything
-anything-
for the body you now shame.
Please, my sweet girl,
could you try
as hard as you may
to remember…
Life is fickle.
Impermanent.
Impossibly fragile.
Try to embrace this monotonous,
seemingly unremarkable day.
For the time will surely come,
when you will look back,
and will give anything
-anything-
for this one imperfect day.
Suddenly she leans in
so close I can nearly touch her.
I place my hand against hers
on the other side of the bathroom mirror.
Just behind.
Just behind.
But she cannot see me.
She delicately traces the lines curving out from the corner of her eyes.
The faint groove now burrowed between her brow.
She wonders where they came from…
Worries that matter?
Worries that don’t.
lying far away from this place
on a dark hospital bed
blanketed in the flashing lights
of a monotone computer screen.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beeeeeeep.
The early morning light
casting soft shadows across the cords trailing out
from my hand aged with time.
Knotted.
Spotted.
Empty.
Then in a glimmering instant
I stand quietly just on the other side
of my own reflection in the mirror.
Gazing into the eyes of a younger self.
Insecure.
Worried.
Doubts relentlessly taunting her
like winged demons dancing around her head.
Her judgments so swift
she doesn’t even notice
they lay across her like daggers.
She reaches out to me, pressing one hand against the glass
searching past the blurred droplets
speckled like constellations across the bathroom mirror.
But she cannot see me.
Oh, my sweet darling.
What I wouldn’t give
to tell you,
How young you still are.
How quickly the day will come
where you would give anything
-anything-
for the body you now shame.
Please, my sweet girl,
could you try
as hard as you may
to remember…
Life is fickle.
Impermanent.
Impossibly fragile.
Try to embrace this monotonous,
seemingly unremarkable day.
For the time will surely come,
when you will look back,
and will give anything
-anything-
for this one imperfect day.
Suddenly she leans in
so close I can nearly touch her.
I place my hand against hers
on the other side of the bathroom mirror.
Just behind.
Just behind.
But she cannot see me.
She delicately traces the lines curving out from the corner of her eyes.
The faint groove now burrowed between her brow.
She wonders where they came from…
Worries that matter?
Worries that don’t.
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