Go to the double mirror. See how age is perfecting you, every memory creased in the thinness of your new familiar. This is your evidence— nothing ever goes away, nothing is ever lost— it merely turns to something else, to someone behind you, perhaps their own slow moving wrinkle. No grief needed here, no tissue or heavier handkerchief. Only a reminder that you are still reflecting, image behind image behind image, silver, silhouette, or whisper. Electric in the universe. -Katherine Gotthardt
