When the Reflection's a Lie
There comes a point in life where the mirror is an enemy, Walter reflected, not for the first time as he faced it. His glance skimmed over wrinkles that seemed like foreign invaders on the territory of his face and skittered away from the spots on the backs of his hands while he straightened his tie.
It wasn't shame. He would rather have those hard-earned proofs of a life lived long and fully than the false youth some hid behind.
I'm just an old John Bull.
Why then, did he always look in the mirror and expect a different reflection?