Sitting in front of the mirror I undo my hair and let it fall at my shoulders. I shake my head a bit to let the full body of it spread out more. Both my hands rub the sides of my face and then my temples.
There are creases in the corner of my eyes and an indentation between my eyebrows born from years of scowling at my in-laws who always reminded me of every inefficiency mental and physical. Even the lines on either side of my mouth make me look like a sad clown who lost her smile. My shoulders droop inward. They're not thrown back with unshakable confidence like they were before, it's gone. It's been berated and beaten out of me. The weight of everything life has thrown at me has broken this body down to nothing. Who was I before I became the who I am who is lost? I haven't the slightest idea, for the reflection that is looking back at me isn't me, it's some other woman who haunts the inner reflection of this cheap mirror from Wal-Mart.
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