You're not getting any younger.

Staring into the mirror you discover lines that haven't been there before.

You can dye your hair, hide behind your make up. You can work out, eat healthy, keep fit.

But the lines will stay. Around you eyes, mouth, your throat.

And that scares you, terrifies you.

Your body, your capital. Aging.

You're still beautiful, that is not where your doubts lay. People would easily give you less years than you have actually lived.

But you're not everybody's fantasy anymore. You're not the one they stare at in a crowded place. You're not the one they dare not approach for fear you're way out of their league.

Just a nice, good looking lady, a mother, divorced, scarred.

You don't see that there is appeal in that, too. Your experience. The way life shaped you, made you who you are. Strong, independent, ambitious.

You only see what else it made you: lonely, desperate, afraid.

And tired.

Time has not stopped for you, as you foolishly expected it to.

Life has thrown you chances, some of which you took, and a lot of which you let slip by, always sure there'd be the next, and the next, until there wasn't.

Now you look at your friends, getting married, being happy, safe. While you go home to a daughter growing up too fast, estranging herself from you. To a bed, big enough for another warm body, but mostly deserted as you work so much you hardly ever sleep there, never mind invite anyone.

You stare into the mirror, you feel empty. But you refuse to let it show. You won't cry, won't let this get to you. Life has never brought you to your knees.

You turn away, unable to watch anymore what you have become. Instead you pull on tight pants, that you know make your ass look good, at least as long as they don't come off. Wear a bra that makes your chest look young, firm, full, underneath your blouse. The way it was when you were twenty and dancing.

Next you comb through your hair, make it fall across your face so it will mask some of the lines you don't want anyone to see.

Then you're ready to face the world. Work, where nobody really cares, as they've known you for so long, they do not pay attention to the changes.

Or so you hope.