The Thick of it

As the low lighting of the bathroom
hit my eyes, and I peer
at the reflection,
I see within me a person
who wasn’t staring back
three years ago.
I try to tell myself
my features are the same,
but looking at my smile,
and eyes, I see the truth:
Grief has painted
my face anew,
realigned my features,
and the fire in
my eyes, a smoldering
set of embers, burning
that small piece of old me.
Kindness saved for kindling.

So, I entertain myself,
and find joy in
disobedience.
I brightly color my eyes,
cheeks, lips, and hair,
to pretend that carefree girl
is still alive.
I drink my coffee in her cups,
feeling no remorse
for a girl who was foolish enough
to believe in happy endings.

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