You are leaning close to it right now, aren't you. Chin tilted, hunting for the thing you have decided is wrong today. The crease. The pore. The way one eyebrow sits lower than its brother. You have spent so long standing at this exact distance, close enough to fog the glass, that you have never once stepped back to see the whole of it.
I want to tell you what I see when I remember you at that sink. I see a face I would give a great deal to touch again. That eyebrow. The small hurried way you tuck your hair behind one ear before deciding anything.
You think the mirror is a courtroom. From here it looks like a window into a morning you cannot get back.
Do me one favor. Not a big one. When you finish scowling at yourself and reach for the towel, just glance up once more, and this time do not look for the flaw. Look at how young your hands are on the faucet.
That is all. You can go back to worrying now.
But you looked, and I felt it, all the way out here.