Friday, 1 June 2012

WE MEET. NOT FOR the first time. I watch you considering me, wondering still, after all these years, where you begin and I might end. The lines on my face may tell a story, but the look on yours says more.

Wherever you go, you are there. So am I. I am the first to avert from our reflective gaze. Because I am of age, as my face honestly purports, and wise enough now to know how we feel without need to see your expression.

We are one. The mirror agrees.