AGE OF REFLECTION

A flower at its peak is in full bloom. Its petals unfurl, emitting a hypnotizing aroma, While its leaves extend, yearning for the sun's rays. But before insects can feed and the elements strike, Leaving marks upon its flesh, We are inclined to pick it.

We place it in a vase, A vacuum void of harsh winds and flooding rains. Thus, as the Earth’s dynamic climate fails to reach within these walls, We isolate it in its purest form. Perched on the windowsill, It graces the room with all its glory. So we think, It’s been saved.

Yet promptly after, it begins to wilt. Its petals start to shrivel at the edges. Once tender, now crisp. It loses its soft fragrance, its mesmerizing perfume. And even through the blurred reflection on the window, We can witness its imperfections deepen.

We saturate the vase with water and nutrients, Distance it from direct sunlight, Sustain a brisk temperature. Little by little, its petals perk up, Its soft scent faintly returns, A tranquil ambience ascends. So we think, It’s been saved.

Except, the effects of our efforts don’t last. It continues to wither, And its petals become brittle. Its aroma dissipates into thin air. It loses its radiance and turns dull, Lifeless.

But to our surprise, it doesn’t decay. Its once vibrant petals now sit discolored and dehydrated. Its hypnotic fragrance, now forever lost. Still, there's comfort and elegance in this fragile state. Light as a feather and stiff as a board, It remains intact, blemishes and all. Preserved in time, There’s beauty in its existence.

Our pulchritude peaks in our youth. Our smiles glisten, radiating a contagious warmth, While our skin glows, absorbing the air’s moisture. But as the sun beats down and life takes its course, Blemishing our exterior, We are disposed to halt it.

We encase ourselves in a bubble, A prison void of unexpected injuries and exploding emotions. Thus, as life’s adventures cease to affect us within our confines, We seclude ourselves from the world. Immersed in this desolate sanctuary, We’ve never looked more pristine. So we think, We’ve been spared.

But soon after, we begin to decline. Our skin starts to wrinkle at our features. Once supple, now inelastic. We lose our spark, our emotional vigor. And even through the vague reflection in the mirror, We can observe every flaw as though magnified.

We drown our skin in serums and moisturizers, Switch to retinoids and hydroxy acids, Slather on excessive SPF protection. Step by step, our skin re-energizes, Its elasticity returns, An illuminating hydration emerges. So we think, We’ve been spared.

Except, the effects of our efforts don’t last. We continue to age, And our skin grows lackluster. Its plumpness transforms into tenuousness. It loses its radiance and turns dull, Pallid.

But to our surprise, we aren’t disfigured. Our once succulent skin is now thin and parched. Its youthful glow, now truly lost. Yet, there’s liveliness and grace in this delicate state. Carrying the memory of every experience and emotion, We remain sound; wrinkles, scars, and all. Preserved in time, There’s beauty in our existence. WRITER LYNN DANG GRAPHIC DESIGNER HANNAH SALAMEH