The Ghost of ....

I saw her again today.

In the mirror. I don't know if it was a trick of the early morning light, or lack of  light, but there she was.

Oh, I've seen her before. Used to, I saw her every time I looked in the mirror.

But now, it's less and less.

And I know someday soon, I won't see her at all.

It's the old me.

And by old me, I mean the young me.

The way you take for granted you look, because you've looked that way, more or less, since you were in your twenties.

The change is so gradual, or at least it has been for me, that you hardly notice.

I had that young baby face - had to show my I.D. even when I was in my thirties - and I kept on keeping on. Good skin, baby face, whatever.

But then I fell and suffered a lot of pain. And a lot of the pain has never gone.  I see that on my face, it didn't take long.

And of course turning sixty isn't exactly a way to stay youthful looking, is it?

But this morning, for some strange reason, when I looked in the mirror, for just a moment, I saw the me of yesterday. Maybe it was the expression on my face, I don't know.

But it made me smile.

I miss her, you know.