The Face We Become.

When I meet those with gentle hearts,
I used to think—
they must have lived kindly,
walking through the world with quiet goodness.

And perhaps… it’s true.
For in them,
there is a softness that cannot be feigned—
a grace that settles
in the lines of their face,
in the calm of their gaze.

It reminds me of an old saying:
after forty,
we each become responsible
for the face we wear.

So today again,
with a small, knowing smile,
I set out into the morning—
choosing to paint my day
in the colors of a rainbow.