Age Is Just A Number

I look younger than I am...maybe its my height...maybe its my eyes...I see nothing but whispers when I look in the mirror. I would reach out and touch the glass just to see if it were real or just my imagination dawning on me...sometimes I despise everything hidden in my eyes with their lingering sadness met with just a hint of wisdom that comes with my actual age. My mind is heavy with an emboldened conscience that is ravenous...but is subtle in its own way. Maybe age is just a number and the mortality rate makes us a bit younger than we actually are. I just know one thing....I would rather be a whisper in a mirror than a living lie.

Reviews

[Belle]

I love this! It's short, but you keep the reader guessing throughout, changing tone seamlessly and creating clear stages in your narrator's developing train of thought. Beginning with "I look younger than I am... maybe it's my height..." creates a childlike, insecure tone, as though your narrator has an overactive imagination. The language then becomes much more wise and world-weary: "My mind is heavy with an emboldened conscience that is ravenous...". Your final line is especially poignant, like your narrator has just given in and resigned him/herself to the aging process and what comes with it.