Dear Prudence,
the next time that i caught my own reflection it was on its way to meet you, thinking of excuses to postpone. You never look like yourself from the side but your profile could not hide the fact you knew I was approaching your throne. With folded arms you occupy the bench like a toothache, saw them puff your chest out like you'd never lost a war. And though I tried so not to suffer the indignity of reaction, there was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw.