At 28 years old,
I look in the mirror and see a familiar face,
A face I’ve seen cracked and weathered by days spent grinning in the sun,
Worn and hardened by the brisk wind of time passing by like a subway train,
The eyes bright, locked open and dried from the near constant breeze,
scanning the story contained in each fleeting glimpse through the windows,
In my face I see the evidence of a life lived well so far,
Smile lines that slice the landscape of my cheeks like canyons,
Crafted and cut by the intentional and tender hands of white waters and gentle brooks,
Wrinkles that show the places I’ve been like a roadmap,
My visage adorned with the ornate gilding of an antique ceramic,
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 9:57 AM UTC
At 28 years old,
I look in the mirror and see a familiar face,
A face I’ve seen cracked and weathered by days spent grinning in the sun,
Worn and hardened by the brisk wind of time passing by like a subway train,
The eyes bright, locked open and dried from the near constant breeze,
scanning the story contained in each fleeting glimpse through the windows,
In my face I see the evidence of a life lived well so far,
Smile lines that slice the landscape of my cheeks like canyons,
Crafted and cut by the intentional and tender hands of white waters and gentle brooks,
Wrinkles that show the places I’ve been like a roadmap,
My visage adorned with the ornate gilding of an antique ceramic,
Gotta get back to this
