A battered heart, a tattered soul. A face as wrinkled as an antique cloth you find in an abandoned box. She sat on the side of the bed, and tried to remember the days of her youth. She turned towards the mirror on the dresser, and gazed. Unrecognizable, she lifted her hand convinced the image wasn’t hers. The reflection mimicked her back and she gasped. Feeling her face, the skin felt thin and foreign. She ransacked her brain to go as far back as she could remember. Some memories had black spots on the images and some floated away. She wanted to run and catch the images like you would a balloon, but they were gone.
