The Face Inside the Mirror

Disabled not by her debilitating illness, but rather a lonely heart.
A sense of resentment, confusion, and unwarranted trauma.
A silent cry of despair evident only by the small tear that seemed permanent…
At the corner of her left eye.
Darkened circles, swallowed her small face
An indication of many sleepless nights, with a rainfall of tears.
Or just tired.
Tired of the pain, tired of not knowing, tired of the machines.
The machines enabled her, but entrapped her.
They made alot of noise, but they kept her hydrated, and measured her fluids, and…
Meant she couldn’t move. Not even to go to the bathroom.
The non-stop chatter keeps her mind off of reality.
The reality that she’s six, and suppose to start kindergarten in less than a week.
In the back of her mind, she knows the truth.
A small mirror sits to the left of her chocolate milk,
And every now and then, well - quite often,
She would pick up the mirror, to make sure the face she saw previously,
Was indeed the face she was wearing.
Its as if she didn’t recognize the person to which she was staring.
Putting down the mirror, almost in disgust, she released a solemn exhale,
Disappointed. Scared. Lonely.
I asked her what she saw that made her so sad…
She said… “me.”