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She looks in the mirror and sees what she sees.
That new cover up she bought doesn’t do anything to cover up the awful zit. Red lines take away from the blue of the eyes. Ten too many pounds make a round and ugly face. Don’t they see the imperfection?
And then comes the boy with murmered confirmations. Your face is lovely. Those eyes are blue and perfect. You are soft and comfortable and beautiful.
She listens to him and wonders: which opinion is more correct? Her own, negative thoughts, or his love inspired words.
She hopes it is him.
But she looks in the mirror and sees what she sees.
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Time marches on
and I am frozen.
Time stands still
and I race toward the finish.
Time sits on my shoulder
and mocks me.
Time stands across the room
and beckons me to victory.
Time is a moody mistress:
tick tock.
