A Mark Unseen

Under the flicker of the bathroom light,

a speckled dot sits stubborn

on pale skin,

a small bruise that wasn’t there before

or maybe I just never saw.

Caught in the mirror’s half-glare,

it looks like an old visitor,

a whisper of time’s slow map

etched in skin,

a tiny rebellion

against smooth forgetting.

I press my finger close,

hoping to brush it away,

but it clings,

silent and stubborn,

a mark left behind

that won’t disappear.