Looking but not seeing.  Not looking to see.  I spend so much time.  I’ve done it so often, the seeing becomes meaningless.  The same every day, yet also changed every day.  Too close.  Too often.  Never familiar, but increasingly less familiar.  That’s not me.  Those sad eyes.  That sad look.  That sad face.  That’s not my face.  A mask.  Surely a mask.  A cruel joke, realistic though, just someone else’s reality.  Not un-handsome.  Not old.  Just not me.

6 thoughts on “Reflections

    • Is that a thing? “Unfiction”? I am reading a lot lately about shifts in the non-fiction genre, and this seems like something else still. Stay tuned; more to follow.

      We’re all younger and more beautiful than we may appear in any one moment.

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