It was a Wednesday long lost, but it was the day he stopped living. He passed by a mirror and stopped for a glance, something he did on occasion, but not too often. On this Wednesday he saw wrinkles around his eyes. Smile wrinkles.

He had a Cheshire grin, so the wrinkles were pronounced, deep, common in his family, but they were wrinkles. It marked age, and he was frightened, so he paused in front of the mirror long enough to trace every etch of time on his face. But the lines were growing, so he paused and watched.

Time passed as he stood, afraid of the wrinkles, of time, of death, so he watched, trying to make sure there was nothing new. More wrinkles came as he watched and waited, saddened.

While others lived their lives, he kept a close watch on the mirror, regretting lost youth, watching the horror of time he could see climbing upon him, pausing in front of the mirror.

It was a Wednesday some twenty years ago when he began his pause in front of the mirror. He has done little since monitoring the markings of life spent, wishing the wrinkles were not, regretting his misspent youth, misspending the gift of another twenty years.

It was a Thursday, decades later. He has determined to go out and live, but he paused in his reflection, wondering who was the old man in the mirror. He froze, knowing another twenty years was about to slip.

He felt the grip of fear, regretting the last forty years of waiting, regretting the last week, regretting yesterday. He picked up the bottle of after-shave and smashed it into the mirror. He was no longer visible.

His reflection was broken. He did not care. He wanted no regrets for just one day. Today. Just today. One day. Clenching the bottle of after-shave in case he needed to smash any more mirrors, he wandered out into his front yard in his underwear and looked into the sky. It was his moment without regret. He'd take just the moment.