She was born that day, from pain. Though she didn’t know yet. She held the lipstick like a toddler would hold a paintbrush and splattered red colour on her lips that she always imagined to be lush-less. She did this carelessly, giving herself the false impression of being the rebel she wanted to be in that moment, and in many moments before this.
Noises from outside the door called for her and creeped up her spine. She was suddenly struck by the self-consciousness with which you allow your thoughts to wander, but not too far. She was shaken back into the reality of the tiny white bathroom she was in, the walls eerily clean like the false composure on her face. In a second, she saw the hot rail that she had prepared to dry clothes. Clothes that the practical side of her washed even when tears had rolled down those powdered cheeks. She seemed like a sorry figure but was a resilient woman, some would say she even brought this onto herself. Why couldn’t she have been like some of the others. Why did she always want more?
Even in that lonely moment she had known that the tears would dry up but the washed clothes wouldn’t. She comforted herself by thinking that she would think about it all once the chores were over. A part of her knew already that it wasn’t true. She caught her reflection in the mirror and stole a glimpse of her past, she was relieved.
She rushed to leave but unsure of what others might say about her act of daredevilry at 10am in the morning, she lightened her scarlet lips with the dullest shade she could find, and left. She knew in her heart that she wasn’t ready, her head wasn’t ready to support the crazy things her heart whispered to her during meandering nights. She wasn’t ready today, but hoped she would be sometime soon. Time was running out. The blueprint of who she wanted to be was fading fast.
Featured image source: From Up North