Still—the thought is easier than the act—I stare upon a reflection I've come to know for a while. No longer are my eyes full of innocence, searching for understanding and an acceptable answer that I've still yet to receive when I cry within the mirror that shows the image of me, although that's not who I see. That's never been who I've ever seen, and as my present stare is accompanied with tears, I justify my adolescent sorrow, as I'm still building up belief for tomorrow, al
