Looking Into the Mirror

LOOKING IN THE MIRROR

Frequently I find myself longing for not only belonging, but love and acceptance. True intrinsic knowing that no matter what I do, no matter what I say, someone will recognize the beauty, the sameness in me that they hold and cherish within themselves. Never have I been successful in truly absorbing it, except for when I pretend to see myself through someone else’s eyes. In the mirror I talk to myself as if I were someone else. 

Golden girl that captivates my soul, how do you do that thing you do? Eyes of opal jade and ocean blue entwined with delicate streaks of turpentine that shake me into the realm of the living again, my God. Rosy cheeks without a splash of rouge, pinching me awake. Asleep or dead drudging through life, until I do-Si-do with that smile as wide and bright as the sun. 

The beautiful mirror woman accuses the world of insincerity, but no lies are being told about her radiance. Each perceived flaw only adds to the immaculate canvas. Crows feet and stretch marks, freckled skin and ancient scars. She thinks she has a witch’s nose, pointy and protruding, yet little does she know witches rule the world. A body considered Renaissance excellence, her plump curves and sagging spots draw attention to the absolute awe of the essence of woman. Choices of senseless face paints or elegant robes become inconsequential against her fair, delicate skin. 

Beyond the shell where the goddess resides, something even more appealing lingers. Never was it the body or beauty that enraptured me, but the spirit that drew me nearer. An inexplicable captivation overwhelms me before a word is spoken, an aura luring me to my new life. Silly and clever, funny and ambitious, open and free hardly describe her. Compassionate, kind, and full of love, the cup overfloweth in abundance. As a companion, a partner in life, she is my equal and the love I’ve already been bestowed through her is enough for a thousand lifetimes. From this moment I shall fall in love with her each day, over and over, for those million years. 

Doesn’t it sound wonderful? Gentle and emanating? I find it difficult to say to myself but a bit easier through someone imaginary, to the someone in the mirror. With little foundation for experience with self-love, I have only a working hypothesis through gazing into the mirror at the dazzling, familiar curly-haired girl, the vessel carrying my immortal soul.

One question hangs in the air of my consciousness; isn’t she just lovely?