Standing Before the Mirror

There came a time in my life when my reflection in the mirror seemed to bend. In the past, I had not been attentive to the physical changes of growing older. Now I notice my hairline that was once thick shows signs of thinning. The attributes I previously noticed least are more predominant now. Before her, I never looked closely enough to see how my body changed through the years. I am more conscious of those changes now that I am with her. It won't be long until she notices that I am getting old.

Standing before the mirror, my eyes appear tired. It looks like I have been up all day processing a scene but I have not. In time will she notice that my eyes are not as bright as they were in years past? I look around for a bottle of Visine. The drops will clear them up but will not take away the bags that I have collected over the years. It won't be long until she notices that I am getting old.

I feel the stiffness in my back from the activities of the night before as I step into the shower. My showers have increased in length over the years, more so since I have been living with Sara. The hot water pounds my muscles to loosen and invigorate them. The pain in my joints increases with my level of activity at work while my recovery time lengthens. I am highly aware of the stiffness in my knees as I lift my foot up for cleansing. Adjusting my center of gravity, my weight bearing ankle tends to buckle and shift; more age related weakness I whisper to myself. Moving the cloth along my calves, I notice the muscle tone I once had has reduced, given away to the years of bending and kneeling over crime scenes. It won't be long until she notices that I am getting old.

While circling my chest with the fragrant doused wash cloth, a river of perfumed water flows down the center of my stomach and over my lifeless member. Good thing she likes grey hair I thought to myself. Before Sara, showers were not just for cleaning, they were my trigger for release. It won't be long until she notices that I am getting old.

I shut the water off and reach for the towel she conveniently left me on the commode. The smell of fabric softener overwhelms my senses. The towels I previously owned were quite rough and thin. I dry myself thoroughly looking down at my feet noticing the patches of hair missing in places on my legs. The tale-tell voids created by years of crossing my legs in the same manner. I wrap the dampened towel around my waist and tuck an edge in at the top to hold it snugly to my body. I am not as thin as I use to be. Gravity has played an integral part in the shifting of my beltline. It won't be long until she notices that I am getting old.