I see her everyday in the park, by my house, on the way to church. She’s always there in her light blue faded dress. It’s filled with small, pearl lilacs. Though, you wouldn’t be able to notice that at a first glance, since the wash has taken all of its vibrant colors away. She wears a straw rimmed hat above the bush that has taken root on her scalp. Like her dress, it’s faded as well. Slowly it became a worn out grey mass of indefinite curls.
She walks with an awkward gait, her feet crossing each other’s paths. But somehow, she always ends up in a straight path, never losing her balance. She’s always in thought, or at least it looks that way. Lost in her own imaginative world, better then her reality. Her fragile figure hunches over, she never stands up straight.
You can tell a lot about her by looking at her face. Each of the thousands of wrinkles tells a story of how she has aged throughout the years. A bruise is ledged right above her left cheek bone where she had been hit, but the fear and pain is not expressed within her eyes. They portray a sense of happiness; a façade. Her lips are set as if she has something to say but cannot find any words to express it. And with a quiet sigh she represses the gloom while embracing the day she’s about to face.

I look away, and step back from the mirror.