Mirror of Alone

I lean forward, closer to the lengthy mirror, and squint my eyes, observing the fine lines carved around my dry lips. I gently rub my finger against one faint crease and proceed to stretch it out. After some time, I stop interrogating it, while leaving my finger on the imprint, and close my eyelids while releasing a reluctant sigh. I open my eyes to, again, gaze into the mirror and within seconds I notice my fingernail, still, on the laugh line, compacted with filth and overgrown. I glance down to realize it's sterile and trimmed.

I slant back up straight and take a broad step behind to view my entire body in the mirror. I peer at my laugh indents; I glare harder and my eyes begin to strain. Uncontrollably I blink and I spot the exaggerated weight surrounding my waist, causing a lump in my throat, I clutch onto the fat while scrutinizing it through the mirror. After inspecting it, I steadily look up at my face and sense a blazing rush form inside my chest as I examine, with my chubby hands, all the added skin around my neck as if it's choking me. 

I jerk my head away and breathe deeply through my nostrils as I can start to feel my forehead pores collect sweat. I take an estimated step nearer to the mirror and peek up to, again, gaze at my mug before, momentarily, I heart-sinkingly notice my hair and how coarse and thin it is. I tenderly comb my hand through and, in the mirror, gapingly watch as a great portion of hair strands are snuggled between my fingers. I glimpse at both my reflection and my hand, for a moment, before I realize there is nothing trapped by my fingers. I, then, lock my eyes to be introduced to my heart immensely throbbing. 

I hesitantly open my eyelids to recognize that I am slightly further from the mirror. In alarm, I notice an intense bruise scarred on my neck. While I watch my reflection, I stroke it, expecting it to ooze in pain; but nothing. I watch my reflection lift up my shirt revealing a discolored lesion on my stomach. In horror, I gawk at it before I unwillingly look up at my reflected face and see I have a severe black eye with trails of dried tears on both of my eyes.

A dense sudden crack emerges, before I register that I'm hunched over in front of the mirror, with no thoughts, I perceive a bottom fractured piece, of the mirror, collapse and break into fragments. I mindlessly look up, still bowed over, and analyze the jabbed mirror, rippled in shatters, with my fist at its center. I use my hand, from the mirror, to quiveringly grasp a broken piece from the ground to contemplate myself: and what I gazed at could not have been more breathe-stolen beautiful than I could ever imagine.