mirror, mirror.

I'm housesitting for my aunt and she has this massive mirror that faces the hallway.

As the dogs were eating their dinner I stood and stared into my own eyes for the first time in a long while. I looked at the hallway that saw my worst years. The worn bronze doorknob that was gripped in anger and frustration by hands covered in tears. The bathroom I hated my teenaged self in. I looked at my eyes again. At my newly formed face. The scars on my skin. My chestnut eyes, and long eyelashes, and wild hair.

And I was content. With my history, how I've developed as a person, who I used to be and who I am now and who I'm on the path to being.

My boss asked me about what my thoughts on heaven and hell were today. I told him that frankly, the Universe and I have a personal relationship that I don't feel the need or urge to discuss with him or anyone. When I look at myself, I see my link to God in my eyes as clear as my pupils. I wear my soul on my sleeve.

And I am content.