Mirrors are for the young. I even avoid those streets flanked by high-end stores enshrined in vast sheets of plate glass. Who needs to have their insipid reflection hurled back at them so remorselessly? Who needs to feel like an impostor amongst the throngs of the young and the beautiful?
I was one of them once, you know. I had legs up to there, a cleavage to die for and such grace, like a swan. Oh yes, the boys all wanted me.
The trouble is, in my mind I am still ‘that girl’. I still have ebony curls kissing my shoulders, rosebud lips, alabaster skin and flashing green eyes. I am still devastating. My hips still undulate and I still walk as if the pencil skirt was invented for me.
We all have to grow old, darling, on the outside. Inside, well that’s an entirely different matter…
Here’s my latest entry to the lovely Angela’s VisDare.
I hope you enjoy this week’s entry- and please do visit VisDare for amazing poetry and prose!