My first visual every morning is her face
Unkempt hair, eyes adjusting to light 
She stops for a brief moment in front of me and then disappears
Into the day, figuring herself out, I guess

I try, but fail to understand her,
There are days I see her dancing like crazy
Pouting, admiring, and blowing kisses to what she sees in my reflection,
Days when she stares, smiling ear to ear
Probably amused by the way she looks
Days when I hear her blabbering to herself while walking around the room 
About how much she loves herself

But there are also days when she comes to me
Just to curse under her breath
She says she hates what she sees
She looks at me with the same depth in her eyes
But this time, frowning, displeased
She doesn't speak to herself on days like this
All I hear is silence and muffled breaths.

  .    .    .