She sat on the stool in front of her dressing table and looked at her reflection. She was wasn't gauging her attractiveness or whether her hair had gone awry or if she needed something to brighten her complexion. She was looking to see if it would be obvious to her husband that she had been crying again.
When she looked down she did not see the mottled skin on her wrinkled hands nor the tiny tags of skin that had started to multiply, she was elsewhere in her mind. She did not see what I see. She did not see the tiny glow of love, ever present, in her tired eyes. She did not see hands that had worked themselves to the bone in the care of those she cherished. She did not see the floating crown of grey that encircled her head, familiar yet wild. She looked but did not see herself or anything around her and she cared less. She was ensnared, mind and body, by the pain of loving a daughter who drank, night and day, to escape the harshness of life.
Time up
Inspiration: today the writer's inspiration blog on tumblr suggested writing about beauty. For me beauty comes from what people do and say rather than how they look. I hope this conveys that sentiment.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.