I Smiled at My Reflection and It Felt Fake

Dear Delyara, I tried it in the bathroom mirror. Not because I was taking a photo. Because I wanted to see if I could still look normal enough to pass for fine. And there it was, this practiced face. Pleasant enough. Alive enough. The face of a woman who could still answer questions, still go downstairs, still be socially acceptable for one more evening. I hated how easy it came. Because the smile itself wasn’t the problem. It was the skill in it. The fact that I know how to place “I’m okay” over a much messier truth so quickly that even I can get briefly fooled by it if I’m not paying attention. I stopped smiling and looked more like myself. That felt sadder. Also cleaner.