I had lost myself. I can’t even place when or how, but I know now that I was lost. My focus had shrunk down to the size of a needle point. My ambition was flushed down the drain.
Finally a day arrived where I could pick myself up; a day of opportunity. I had been up for hours, but only spent 15 minutes preparing for the day. Ready, wearing my coat and big winter boots, I spent the next five minutes staring disappointed at my reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me was a despondent body and a colorless, discouraged face. I did try – truthfully. But the result was tiresome.
Standing, waiting, pacing and turning. Rolling my eyes in annoyance. Letting my past creep into my thoughts and haunt my conscience. Turning back time isn’t possible, I tell myself. It’s wasteful thinking about it.
On my way back home I feel like a used rag doll. The recurring memory of my reflection stiffens a frown on my face all the way home. Bashed by deceiving thoughts that crumbled my spirit I had transformed back to that little girl, blinded by fantasy, who forgot her insight.
My forehead and cheeks turn sore from the constant frown. I keep shaking my head. Hating my longing for youth and serenity, I steal a final glimpse of myself in the bus mirror before stepping outside…