NINETEEN. Mirror.
What do you think when you look in the mirror?
My eyes have never changed.
When I was little, I used to sit on my mum's bathroom counter. She had a huge mirror - but, doesn't everything seem huge when you're small? I would sit on the counter as she got ready for work; I'd watch as she so carefully painted her lips and lined her eyes. Of course, once she was out the door, I would attempt to make my lips just as shiny and my eyes just as smokey. It never really worked; my face would be a smudgy mess, but my eyes, despite being smudged with gray eyeshadow and lined too heavily, were still pretty - as if nothing could taint them.
During most of my schooling, I spent too much time locked in my room, crying over some little nonsensical thing. Often, I would sit at my vanity table and stare into the mirror, studying myself far too closely. I hated the way I looked; I never seemed to be pretty like the other girls. I would stare at my reflection with the scrunity that only a teenager can muster. But, even though my mascara was runny and my cheeks were flushes, my eyes were still lovely - as if nothing could take away their sparkle.
While I was passing the time of summer, I would often be at Malcolm's home. It was a lovely place, all his own - I suppose that was the perk of dating an older man that I failed to appreciate. I would usually spend a bit of time in front of the mirror while he was away; I found it was the only place I could find myself. Malcolm always gave me compliments, but in front of the mirror, they seemed to fade away. My hair wasn't pretty cropped short, but he liked it; I didn't look spectacular with my skin darkened from the sun, in fact I looked almost sick. But, even though our opinions differed, my eyes were still pure and unchanged - as if nothing could take away their innocence.
Now, I find myself with habits - old and new. I still try to make my lips as shiny as my mum's, but I've given up on overly smokey eyes. I still glance at my reflection with runny mascara and an air of scrunity. Often, I catch a glimpse of myself and wonder if I should change something. But, nevertheless, my eyes still remain the same; they're still lovely with that hint of sparkle that simply won't vanish.
My eyes have never changed.
When I was little, I used to sit on my mum's bathroom counter. She had a huge mirror - but, doesn't everything seem huge when you're small? I would sit on the counter as she got ready for work; I'd watch as she so carefully painted her lips and lined her eyes. Of course, once she was out the door, I would attempt to make my lips just as shiny and my eyes just as smokey. It never really worked; my face would be a smudgy mess, but my eyes, despite being smudged with gray eyeshadow and lined too heavily, were still pretty - as if nothing could taint them.
During most of my schooling, I spent too much time locked in my room, crying over some little nonsensical thing. Often, I would sit at my vanity table and stare into the mirror, studying myself far too closely. I hated the way I looked; I never seemed to be pretty like the other girls. I would stare at my reflection with the scrunity that only a teenager can muster. But, even though my mascara was runny and my cheeks were flushes, my eyes were still lovely - as if nothing could take away their sparkle.
While I was passing the time of summer, I would often be at Malcolm's home. It was a lovely place, all his own - I suppose that was the perk of dating an older man that I failed to appreciate. I would usually spend a bit of time in front of the mirror while he was away; I found it was the only place I could find myself. Malcolm always gave me compliments, but in front of the mirror, they seemed to fade away. My hair wasn't pretty cropped short, but he liked it; I didn't look spectacular with my skin darkened from the sun, in fact I looked almost sick. But, even though our opinions differed, my eyes were still pure and unchanged - as if nothing could take away their innocence.
Now, I find myself with habits - old and new. I still try to make my lips as shiny as my mum's, but I've given up on overly smokey eyes. I still glance at my reflection with runny mascara and an air of scrunity. Often, I catch a glimpse of myself and wonder if I should change something. But, nevertheless, my eyes still remain the same; they're still lovely with that hint of sparkle that simply won't vanish.