I stand before the mirror, the room dimly lit. The soft glow of the evening casts shadows that seem to dance on the glass. My reflection blurs for a moment as I stare, trying to reconcile the image before me with the one I remember. At 41, the face that peers back at me is a stranger yet undeniably familiar.
There’s grey in my beard, wisps of silver threading through the dark. It’s as though my past is gently intertwined with my present, marking the years with a quiet dignity. My hair, once a deep shade of youthful brown, now sports threads of grey that glisten under the light. It’s a reminder of time’s unspoken passage, a subtle testament to the life that’s been lived.
The lines on my face have deepened, carved by laughter and worry alike. Each wrinkle seems to tell a story, each scar a fragment of battles fought, both seen and unseen. Once bright with the freshness of youth, my eyes now carry a depth that only time can provide. They reflect a wisdom earned through experience, a tapestry woven from the threads of triumphs and trials.
I trace a finger along my brow, feeling the roughness of time’s hand. I don’t recognize the face in the mirror, not entirely. Yet, as I look closer, I see the person I’ve become—a person who has grown through the years, whose journey is etched into every line and every strand of grey.
The unfamiliarity fades as I realize that this reflection isn’t a stranger; it’s me, transformed. I’ve changed, but in those changes, I’ve found strength and character. Each hair, wrinkle, and scar is a part of my story, a chapter in a book still being written.
I smile, the reflection smiling back. I still have many pages to turn and many stories to tell. The mirror might show the passage of time, but it also reveals the promise of what lies ahead.
The CJBuzz 