The chin has become truncated, the cheeks hollow,
the small, staring eyes old.
It has changed overnight, the very shape
altered by deep new grooves
running down from the corners of the mouth.
'You're doing so well!' friends tell me.
Here is the sudden evidence otherwise,
private sorrow gouging visible tracks.
Already I don't look like me any more:
the me that he would recognise and remember.
This thought starts new tears.
I remind myself he will know me by my essence,
my energy. The strange little face — alien, unknown —
gazes back at me out of the mirror, blankly.