By Tinamarie Cox

I woke up old.

I leaned over the bathroom sink,  closer to the mirror, and blinked faded blue eyes at the unrecognizable image staring back at me. I pulled at her sagging cheeks. The lines on her face ran deep, ravines in dull, loose skin. Her pale lips parted as I studied the elderly woman I had transformed into overnight. 

What happened? How did my hair lose color and my skin droop and pucker overnight? I moved my head left and right searching for flaxen strands. The hair falling through my wrinkled fingers was gray and limp. Dry like straw.

My husband appeared in the reflection, youthful with his taut skin and dark hair tousled from sleep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, rich brown eyes watching me in the mirror.

“I’m old!” I whirled around to answer him.

He laughed and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re just as beautiful as the day I first put my eyes on you.” After a gentle kiss, his strong hands went to my shoulders and turned me back to the mirror. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

My skin glowed, firm at my jawline and tight around my bright blue eyes. My hair caught the overhead light like shining waves of golden wheat. I sighed, then smiled at my renewed reflection. I always preferred seeing myself through his eyes.

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Tinamarie Cox lives in an Arizona town with her family and felines. Her written and visual work has appeared in a number of online and print publications. You’ll find some of her flash fiction pieces in Corvus Review, Spare Parts Lit, 365tomorrows, and As Alive Journal. Explore more of her work at tinamariethinkstoomuch.weebly.com.