Who is that foreign woman staring blankly at me? This question haunts me. The fatigue in her eyes is frightening. Time is written on her face, and each crease represents a canyon of loss. Yet, when I glance again, I see a resemblance and a likeness that makes me shiver.
Staring and fearful, I own that face, the dark circles, the evidence of pain, sorrow, and lonliness.
“It is me. That hollow person is me.”
I begin to ponder the journey that created the reflection I see. I consider the people who came and went, the decisions that carried hefty consequences, and the hope that slowly escaped earthly dreams. Years have passed, and I remain curious. I have a deep sense that there is more to me. Beyond the horizon, unreachable, I swim with the tides of joy.
As a lost little girl, I learned a few tricks. There is “brave face”-the experience of meeting the strongest child, girl, and woman you’ve ever met. There is emotionless crusader’- the beauty who falsely claims victory over an indecent and sordid past. You will meet “tough as nails’- the steele stallion in chaos. The list goes on, you get the point.
While I laid down to the truth, I lost myself in the hustle.
I scan the face again, searching for anything familiar. I clean the mirror in hopes of washing the filth away. I take in a deep breath and resign to fate. While something stirs within, a roar of silence overcomes the whisper of hope. This is it. The hand is dealt, the time has come, you lose.
With everything in me, I get up from the table and take a step back. I follow with another. Each step is a release and gathering of the known and unknown. Once mobile, I glance around. Tables beckon me, with different games, new faces, welcomed smiles, and delicious laughter.
There is more.
The end is not written until the final breath is released. I’ve lived as though I am dying for a long time. Perhaps the time has come to live as though I am living. A concept never considered in the sad story of my life.
Night time is calling, and sleepiness is a gentle echo somewhere around me. I love to dream and visit those fantasies that take you places and recall the faces of your time. I pray I awake tomorrow with rekindled love for myself. I would rather live the dream than to chase it upon the pillow clouds of night.
Where there is time, hope must stand. We are not promised tomorrow, so if you wake up one more day, fall in love again…with everything.