when she cries her tears are edged with mascara and knowledge.
she's hiding under the layers and layers of makeup he slathered onto her. for the sake of making her beautiful. she's so used to the same product, but she knows she needs a new makeup remover. one that will work, wipe and clear her mind. because she doesn't need this -- but she wants it.
she's digging through the chaos of her mind, struggling to find a piece of clarity. but all she can find is despair and nights on the couch with ice cream in her lap and a phone to her ear. i thought he was the one for me, but i was wrong. again. it hurts, and sometimes when the clarity strikes her across the cheeks she realises she can't do it anymore. she can't take this anymore.
she murmurs to herself like she's suffering from a mental illness. 'he was this to me. he was that to me. but she's never asked herself what she really wanted. all she's been taught to do, time after time, was to keep his smiles