I'm sitting here, the glow of the computer one of only two lights in the dark living room. I'm wearing black tights and oversized tshirt, a leftover outfit from my work day. Hair in a messy top knot. A sort of half-dressed lazy ballerina. The lights across the river by our balcony glow through the windows. Everything is silent. She's asleep upstairs, very soundly. He's out catching up with old friends over a few beers.
And I'm right here. Like the sentry of some modern fort, standing guard. Keeping everyone safe. Absorbing the silence.
Tonight I indulged a bit in the past, and a bit of the present. After I put her to bed and gave her that kiss that sends her to a giggly sleep, I padded down the stairs slowly. But I stopped when I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. I walked a bit closer. I don't "do" makeup, and for work it's always moisturizer and lipgloss, so I never really examine myself, because I never have time to, at 6:30am (I'm usually more concerned about leaving the house in pyjama bottoms by mistake). But this time, I did. Just one minute, I told myself.
I spent what felt like an eternity looking at myself, seeing the lines in the corners of my eyes, the perma-freckle sat like a star on my right cheek, the colour of my eyes (a faded hazel-green.. which my daughter ended up inheriting), the shade of my hair (a wavy oaky-brown with faded highlights and some grey hairs showing through), the scar on my forehead (the result of a horrific dog-bite when I was 4 that left me with 12 stitches). My face has changed so much, I noticed. More lines. Thinner skin. More freckles.
I stepped back a bit, like a painter does when he's working. And that's when I saw the whole story. My story. My lines, my scars, my body with its square-like structure and flat little chest.... those are the chapters to my story. And sometimes I feel like it's barely begun to unfold, you know? And that makes me smile.
Sure, I'm unhappy with a few parts here and there. I desperately need a haircut, but I haven't had time. I probably need to rest more instead of trying to do too much. My posture could be better. Seems like yesterday that I was 25 and didn't give a shit about anything and everything, thinking that I had millions of years left on this planet. And here I am, with a birthday looming and parts of me creaking.
But the thing is, after I saw my reflection, I actually saw what I looked like. You know that fairy tale where the boy wants to find the magic mirror that lets him see himself as others see him? That's what I feel like I saw today. I indulged in a moment of complete agreement with the usually opposing sides. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything seemed to fit. I made sense to myself.
Sure, I liked who I was when I was 25, but I love who I've become, so many years later.
1 comment:
Exquisite.
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