The face is familiar. There are five different faces looking back at me. My mother, my father, my aunt, my child and my grandfather look back at me. Yet, I’m an original. I remember when I was thinner. My skin was smoother. My hair was longer. My eyes were brighter. Now, there is a veil – a thin film over my face. Life was etched around my eyes, across my forehead, on either side of my mouth. The dark circles under my eyes aren’t from a lack of sleep. Maybe they are. I those dark circles are from the tears I’ve cried. That’s what I think. They are evidence of over-dried tear ducts. The parentheses around my mouth are smile lines. They are frown lines. I smiled for every love I thought I discovered and embraced. Then I scowled when the love I thought was real, vanished like no more that a vivid imagination. My hair is shorter, still black with brown and red highlights. Every day another color dots the edges of my hairline. Silver. Silver wiry, threads stand tall and wave to everyone who cares to pay attention. They don’t fall out. The silver hairs are firmly wedged into my scalp and refuse to vacate. They remain as evidence of my stress and distress. But between the lines, between the veil and my youth, is experience; those lessons learned over time. If you look closely, you’ll see it in my eyes, right next the light.