Magic Mirror

I should look different. Like me... but different. Not quite aged. Not quite altered. Me... with less. Me... with more. Me... and yet... not.

I look in the mirror, and it lies. It hides. It deludes. It represents the same persona as a few months ago. A persona that may not ever emerge again.

Oh, mirror mirror on the wall... show me true, or not at all!

Could it be that the me that is, sparkles. She's thrown caution to the wind and is no longer chained by inhibition and fear and the expectation of failure. It's when I think this that I realise that the old me is still there. Submerged, but ever present. In awe, and fearful of this new, spectacular, scary, seemingly psychotic me.

I really should look different.