I woke up this morning with frown lines across my forehead.
They were not there yesterday, I am sure of it.
I pulled apart the furrowed skin, peeling back the valleys of flesh to reveal a bright pink riverbed meandering across my forehead.
Three of them, in fact.
Tributaries of emotion. Tributes to my perpetual confusion.
Perhaps I’ve been waking up on the wrong side of bed for a few mornings now.
But am I really old enough for wrinkles?