this was formed from hundreds perhaps thousands of years of being battered by the wind and sand and salt. it has stood up to the test of time. what was once a smooth surface has now taken on a character of it's own, a terrible beauty.
i liken this image to my face. it to has been battered by the elements, worries, joy and grief. i can name every wrinkle. those smile lines?- my children caused them, my grandchildren deepened them. the furrows across my forehead?- worry from when my son ran away, when another was very ill, when they said yes it's cancer. the discolorations? too much time in the sun, too many cigarettes, too many glasses of wine. the crows feet?- they also are lines of happiness- from years of laughter and smiles of contentment. the bags under my eyes?-partially an inherited feature and also from many sleepless nights worrying about loved ones and about myself.
every line, wrinkle, crevice tells a story. my life is written upon my face. no cream will erase it, surgery would just cause different scars and injectables would just mask it for a while.
i like my face. and as the years go by, more stories will be written upon it, more laughter more joy and yes even more sorrow. but that's okay. for an unlined face hasn't lived, hasn't experienced, hasn't succeeded, hasn't failed. i have done all those things and in the years to come, i will do more. and more wrinkles will tell more stories and one day, i to hope to be a terrible beauty.
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