The hot tears melted like molten lava down her cheeks. They carved new paths that hadn’t been trekked since childhood. She windshield wiped her eyes, scratching at the foreign emotion, trying to will them back into her eyes. Her face was soaked, and she looked at her reflection staring back at her in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.

When had she aged? Where had the time gone? Who had she become?

She looked down at her calloused palms, smeared in the tears that just wouldn’t go back in. She remembered back to when at 10, she actively thought that she should remember how it felt to be young and carefree. Although she tried to hold onto that moment, it still passed.

She looked back at up with blurry vision at the woman still peering at her. What would ten year old her think of her life now?

She hadn’t accomplished enough. She didn’t have friends to invite for dinner or to go do something with in the new city that she had moved to. She was between jobs, without a shred of a clue of what was next. She hdn’t called her parents in over a year. She burned every bridge she stepped on.

She lost track of what had once made her happy. Had anything ever made her happy? Was she just feigning joy to fit into the expectations set forth for her?

She never thought too deeply or visualized where she wanted to go or be. She just assumed big things would be waiting for her. Instead she waited. For an opportunity to fall into her lap. Somehow she both waited for a moment that never came and also hoped time would stand still.

But time passed. And she lost. And she never grieved the person she could have been or made strides to become her.

And now that she is finally staring at herself head on - she sees a somber woman filled with rage and regret and hopelessness.

A passive woman alone. One who never fought. Never loved.

For a fragment of a second, saw twinkle in the eye of the woman in the mirror. Her face softened; the muscles relaxing gave way to even more tears. She placed her hand on the mirror, and stroked the face in the reflection. The other arm wrapped around her stomach, as if clutching it. Then the arm on the mirror, followed suit. She stood there, hugging herself tight. Her fingers started moving to her face again, this time tenderly grazing. She cradled her face in her hands.

_I’ve gone about this all wrong. I don’t know myself. But I can meet myself._ Her eyes closed, and she stroked her features gently, tracing the indents and curves. All of it was foreign to herm, as if she had woken up from a coma and didn’t remember herself.

I have now and all the time I have left to make it up to myself. I can choose today, now that I am aware. I can forgive myself for what I haven’t done and focus on what I will.

She inhaled deeply, the tears ceased, her mouth curved into a faint smile.