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Bright, Suave, Linger.
She turned a year older today. Older. She stands sideways to the mirror, half in and half out of the frame, and looks back, seeing herself at twenty. She turns and looks at herself full-on, always critiquing. Too many wrinkles. Too much grey. Too much padding here, there. She will stuff herself into a shiny dress and entertain a bunch of drunk people and then exhausted, she’ll hit the bed when she falls if she times it right tonight. Get up and start again tomorrow. A year older. But tonight, the party. Oh well, it’s better than lying in bed watching yourself wrinkle.
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