7.23

I caught a glance of myself in a mirror today and stopped for a second look. I look healthy. My skin is a good color, my eyes are shiny and bold, my hair soft, even if it is wispy. My shoulders are wider than when I was a boy, my waist narrower than when I was a slob, my legs stronger than when you loved me. I look healthy, of course. I look it.
My new wide shoulders throw a sigh in the air and my new strong legs feel weak and ineffective. What of my waist? Probably starvation born of melancholy. My good skin feels sallow and my hair feels thin, and all that's left of my staggering health is my eyes. My eyes are piercing bright, true, and they look and feel sharp and important. I suspect they have been sharpened as a weapon. It's not by choice, but I do secretly hope my glance would cut you if you were here.