I wear your face, but not in a creepy way.
It stares back at me from the mirror every single day. You never leave me and that’s sometimes hard.
It hits me most when I moisturise.
I count the years when I touch our skin and try to wear them with grace and gratitude. I see your eyes, I see your cheeks, I see your expressions.
I won’t get older in the same way you did, I won’t cut my hair short just because I’m over 30 or do something because I’m ‘supposed to’. But I do get older and one day my face will age past yours. If I’m lucky. And I’m pretty lucky so far.
I promise to honour the chance to get older, the chance to love the body you endured.
It’s not your fault. No one really told you it was OK to look like you and not want to change. I didn’t ever want to change you, I wanted you to love you like you loved me. I wanted you to realise that it was the same thing.
I wear your face and I wear your body. I wear it with love.