The shower mirror shows me the faded ink

The shower mirror shows me the faded ink,

something I chose but didn't choose,

something I did that happened to me—

both true, impossible to lose.

Water runs over the edge,

my finger traces the border where

the color stops and I start again,

both soft, both still there.

It's smaller than I remember,

bigger than I expected to keep.

I could regret this, and I do,

I could love it, and I do.