Through the Looking Glass.

“I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” – Lewis Carroll

Staring at her, she is the same woman that I have always seen.

Her eyes are still the color of leaves in the rain when she cries and freckles still dust the bridge of her nose. A silvery white scar still crosses above her left knee and her hair still falls down her back in long, dark waves. She still tucks it behind tiny ears, running fingers through long strands when she is lost in someone else’s words.

She still bites her lower right lip when she is anxious, her hands flying nervously from task to task when she is awkward. She still questions decisions once shared but now shouldered alone. She still fights to protect and conceal what lies beneath the surface—long to trust, longer still to forget the bruises inflicted by life.

But she’s changed since we last stood here silently looking at each other, diving below the surface that we both hide behind.

The heart pounding beneath the gentle rise and fall of her chest no longer bleeds pain. Laughter has replaced silence and contented calm has replaced frustration and anger. Things once important are no longer, and those once unconsidered are considered and embraced.

If eyes are the window to the soul, the soul gazing back at me is no longer weary and wounded. It is restless and hopeful, patient and determined, awkward and unsure.

Standing alone at the fork in the road.