I see your smile, and its meaning penetrates my heart at last

Isit in the waiting room, awaiting instructions from the nurse after yet another failed treatment.
My black slinky skirt is old and dingy, and my hat fall has seen better days. There are black marks under my eyes from the mascara that runs down my face. I try to stem the flow of tears, but they escape unbidden.
I look exactly as I feel: a complete mess.
You walk out of the examination room into the waiting area. We are a study in contrasts. Your makeup is carefully and skillfully applied. Your sheitel is long and wavy and natural looking. Your outfit is designer, and so is the handbag that hangs casually from your wrist. Your high-heeled boots complete the ensemble; you look like you’ve stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
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