It’s a constant reminder that I’m growing older

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here’s a line etched in the skin between my eyebrows. It wasn’t always there; but years of furrowing my brows in worry, laughing with wild abandon, and crying tears of joy and sadness have left their permanent mark. When I look at myself, that line is all I see. In pictures, I don’t notice my hazel eyes or pert nose — just the line, the line, that stubborn line that doesn’t budge. It’s become a symbol of what I would rather ignore, were it not for the constant reminder in the mirror.

Some people don’t mind getting older. It’s certainly better than the alternative. Some embrace these changes, basking in all they have accomplished and achieved. They say people are like wine, getting better with age.

I certainly don’t feel that way.