I look in the mirror and do not see myself. I see a girl with eyes who have seen too much and felt to little; a girl with a waterfall of salon-flotsam hair and eye circles like coffee rings. I am always thinking if I could find the zipper to this skin (I was never a wolf, I only wore its furs in hopes of being as fierce as it was tender) I would pry this costume off and i could finally be myself, because we are always more than we think we are, but I can’t get over the rotting body my dwindling soul has been condemned to.