I have seen strange things, beautiful and odd things. I have heard the mirror remembering its past. The face that was once smooth and young has spoken too much too often. It has been seen too much. It is so tired of being seen.
My face is a constant song, a reminder of music, a controlled and contrived series of notes. I must say, I have done a bang up job of singing expression, feeling and attitude. No one even knows if they should dance or sigh or sing along.