the woman in the mirror

i stare at her. eventhough it has been taught to us that staring is rude. it has been a very long time since i did, only cursory glances every now and then to make sure everything is fine. she looks different. older. but not quite. i see her every day, so to my eyes, all natural progression of age is invisible, insignificant. she looks like she did ten years ago. even twenty years ago. yet, she looks different.

her lips no longer twitches upwards, the excitement in her eyes dull to a tiredness that hint at the craziness that goes on inside her head. i don't hear her laugh as often, nor do i see her planning for her little distractions from life; her little coffee bean getaways, her musical plays and little parties. looking at her, i finally understand, that sometimes aging is from inside out, not outside in. that you get older when you forget to laugh, when you don't find life funny anymore, when you don't see things with excitement and a glimmer of hope anymore, when you resign yourself from life.

i stare harder at her. she understands what i am trying to tell her, to remind her. i smile at her. she returns the same exact smile at me. she will try harder.