A Backwards Glance Forwards

I look in the mirror.

Compared to the year previously,

This is not the same person that stands in front of me.

Not drastic, just different, nothing to abhor.

Skin pulled flat.

High cheekbones, not as pronounced, lead to

Lips, full and red, the same as before.

But now they go unnoticed.

Underneath the eyes lay sunken, flaccid skin.

Not dark circles, not what people would call ‘bags,’

I don’t know what it is I’m looking at.

I know it’s tired, I know it’s dark.

But that too is a subtlety.

Here is the difference,

Here I peer into an altered soul.

The eyes themselves, though silent, scream.

These eyes are endless- these eyes are flat.

I gaze into the depths and that’s all to see…

Before they sparkled, before they gleamed.

Now they stare indifferently, no curiosity.

Look closely and catch a chill, I can see in but nothing’s looking out.
Sometimes they wander wildly, at moments they go blank and motionless,

At those moments I wonder what image they portray.

I don’t know, for then is when I can’t look.

Frightened I turn away but those eyes remain.

A ghost of what they once were, the likeness haunts me,

Those eyes reveal a hidden unreality.

Funny how change can happen before you know.

Through the looking glass, my soul had fled.

With the looking glass, I found a broken husk.

At the looking glass, I scream, "Will I notice when all is gone?"

The looking glass dissapates; leaving me incapable of reflection.

Tschüss!
Marta Frieda Hart