Thursday August 12th
Day 113
I’m cleaning big mirrors. I stand on a stool to reach into the highest corners with a soft cloth, especially made for glass polishing.
I admire my effort from all angles. Still smeary.
All day my husband has been a mirror for me. Everything I don’t want to see in me shines in his face, in his words, in his worries.
While I keep polishing him my glass is ever more streaky.
I could use a different cloth - soaked in kindness - for us both.
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