cancer, not a sign

Every time I look in the mirror, I can feel the cancer staring back at me. I can feel it in the creases around my eyes. I can feel it in the oils those creases hide. I can see it in the look I give myself. Always. The same. Cancer.

This hasn’t always been my face. Years ago, those creases didn’t hide cancer grease, they were instrumental to smiles. But that was years ago.

Now the lines on my face are like the lines on a rose long ago dried. Each crease just a miracle about to break. Now the lines on my face no longer carry my emotions- they carry the scars of a tomorrow and a today.

What do you do when all you see is death in the mirror? Outside of breaking the mirror, of course. Which I’ve done. Long ago. Or at least I meant to.

But I didn’t. Because, cancer or no, I hoped to see myself each day in the mirror. I wanted to know I lived, I wanted to move side to side; to try to outpace my reflection and fail. I wanted to stare blankly at myself each time I brushed my teeth and wonder if I was staring at another dimension. I wanted to look from an angle and be surprised the mirror didn’t simply reflect what was in front of it. I wanted to live.

Because the moment you outpace yourself, the moment your refelction dances away, you really die.