There’s nothing wrong with me

 

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He looked in the mirror.

He pursed his lips and turned his head to the side. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

The light from the window beside him made the ancient scars on his cheeks cast convoluted shadows. It made his face look sunken. Or so he thought.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He surveyed himself from top to bottom. Gray was starting to fleck his otherwise black hair. There was some strange elongation of his face that he didn’t quite recognize as belonging to him. He took note of the fact that as soon as he looked away from the mirror, his idea of himself once again showed his face as much younger, his skin much smoother (at least in parts). He glanced at the sagging flab above where his belt would normally be. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

The light dimmed momentarily from a cloud crossing the sun.

He could hear children playing in the street.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

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