As in the name of the not afraid to draw blood bright red lipstick I am wearing, and because I am feeling more fearless by the second. He is staring at me, trying to pull off an expression of condescending amusement. I want to rub it off of his face.
You got lipstick on, don’t you? Myself? I prefer no make up.
I start giggling. My own private joke as my mind drifts back to a beautiful eyeliner boy I was all kinds of stupid over when I was 22. I wonder what became of him. I hope he did not change. Lose his beauty.
Yes, I am wearing lipstick, I barely manage, my giggles doing the work for me. Rubbing that condescending amusement right off. Leaving him bewildered, at a loss for words.
I have nothing else to say.
My mind’s drifted again, to a beautiful eyeliner boy, a different one though. And Fearless kisses.
Sort of inspired by smooth, the prompt over at Velvet Verbosity, and sort of not, and sort of a true conversation, and sort of way over the 100 word limit besides.
With a sigh she sits down at last, in his chair, covered in a plaid that doesn’t match anything else in their living room. The chair that despite her protests he insisted on getting, and she insisted on nicknaming Sore Thumb. She is depleted, but proud. Somehow, she has survived. Another day without him.
Her eyes trace handwritten pages. Easy to smudge ink on pieces of fragile onionskin paper. His words. Him.
And against her better judgment, tears.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she spoons her body into the comforting curves of softness, of the plaid that never will match anything else in their living room. A sore thumb. A constant reminder of him.
She is grateful.
Atmosphere, when rain finally ceases, and the sun sultries, chasing overcast.
After brackish, it’s fathoms beyond beautiful.
Deep yourself away, for a bit, believing
that your blurred uncertain on the surface,
actually reflects stars.
It’s not your poison.
Send it back for rum and coke, twist
Zip code day 9.
Inspired by the old adage, “when life gives you lemons…”
I say raise a little hell. ❤
They slip away, if you’re not mindful, and you won’t have them any more.
Chances to care, but by the time you finally get around to it, are lost. Too little too late.
They slip away, pieces of your heart. (The wrong button, hit in fury over another message, and the silly precious accidental message, the voice of one who means the world to you, is gone.)
Oh, it slipped away. One forever moment. Small hand reaching for mine, brown eyes, heart that simply loved me-caught in the middle of big anger-even after I turned the corner, and slipped away.
Inspired by Velvet Verbosity’s Reverence. 100 words.
Jagged at the hand of judgment and rejection and
stone silence, chipped away pieces of yourself
become, for others,
pearls of softheartedness
you can give.
Zip code day 8
I was only going to stay because of days like tomorrow. When her coming home would mean that my heart would rehydrate with the lifeblood that she is for me, and begin to beat again. At least for the three months of her summer vacation, or those couple of weeks at Christmas, or the odd weekend here and there when I might see her. That was my survival plan. But she was, after all, never responsible for saving my heart, or my life. So I left, sacrificed those days. I had to. Those days were not enough for me.
Graceful, at Velvet Verbosity. 100 words.