Reflection of truth

I look tired he says, but means old
A gaze into the rust stained mirror confirms this
Eyes made red with erosion stare back at me
The reflection of another woman, living another life
Skin worn to a light covering, which hangs
From her cheeks, dull and lifeless
An ashen soul emerging through her bones
Threatening to smash the very existence of her being.
She is a stranger, with her greasy hair flecked with chalk
Pinched lips, exhausted from the daily notions of professing wellness
Nails that would claw a man to death yet snap at the very suggestion
A constellation of freckles spread across her nose, strengthening with age
Her sadness reaches out and I press my palm to hers as if we understand each other’s plight
And though we stand together in this moment

It is her eye that allows a tear to form, but not I

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