Mascara and Heartbreaks

 

When the bonds get cut we bleed sometimes, we shed a few tears sometimes even have a session of sad song playing to cheer us up. Not sure how that works but when you understand the lyrics, you don’t feel as alone as before. There is something a bit like an afterlife in the aftermath of rubble of what once was and now is not. It is in the knowing for sure that you can’t have what you had, the ripping at the seams. The way sleeves are detached and left hanging on a bare thread before the final snip, the separation. The pain.

 

Such is life. Our worlds are different though it seems we spin on the same axis. We intertwine webs and learn how to not get caught in other people’s webs but sometimes, we catch feelings and lose balance. We step where we should not, get trapped in other worlds, sometimes we escape with no cuts or bruises, other times we wait for days before we are saved from ourselves and our worst fears. For some of us, things like unrequited love are Achilles we avoid with passion that we can drown in if we don’t watch the tide. 

 

Make sense?

My friend called me and told me of how she had been kicked out of a friendship. No warning signs, no breakdowns just an instant shut down. Out of business, have your bags packed and out of here before I get back type situation. Though they were not dating. A valued friendship can make you feel like you have just been dumped when someone decides to say

I just cant deal with this friendship anymore.”

 

We are not at liberty to say stay.it would be selfish. even though we want these kind of things.  We can only express the shock and sadness and perhaps anger, especially when we don’t even understand where the decision came from. I guess we could ask for more time, but with low expectations and the knowing that comes with reality and gut feelings. Then we begin the process of unlearning and re-learning. We move on. We let go and breath.

This, is what I got from her story.

The lashes, the tiny strands of hope I have left, the places where my teardrops would have gathered if I ever decided to let them fall. My hand almost trembles as I hold the round mirror that fits easily into my palm. Trying to find the answers, looking for missed places I can run my brush along. The lashes that still stand naked awaiting black dresses and curling irons. It’s all about precision.. too much would smudge, too little would not make much of a difference. This is me trying to find out what happened to make you tick. To finally push me of the edge we both climbed from. Not trying to dig to deep but the unanswered questions keep digging holes in the parts of my mind I didn’t quite know I have. It’s weird.

My heart still beats in shock, filled with weird feelings and wall papers of puzzles of where I went wrong. Was it even me? I could easily blame you for leaving but iti’s done, it wont change much, wont even make me feel better, but this mascara, does make me feel a bit better… maybe if I dolled myself up, I can tell myself im ok, that the fountain from my heart wont reach my eyes no matter how high it keeps aiming.

Mascara. Your brush. Your liquidness. Your black skinded-ness. Take me back to my zone. Taint my feelings with blots to mask all the sadness I feel. Hide the pain under your dark tones then slowly begin to erase the memory of it , just so I can come back into me and when I do, I’ll wipe you gently from my lashes and along with you the memory of anything that happened before you. Be my friend. Let your even strokes even out my uneven heart. Maybe this is too much to ask you of but keep me clad in your arms, wrap me, tight. I don’t want to have to show the real me today.

Make up, surgery, masks, reasons, answers to questions posed to a reflection, a broken mirror. If this is what it feels like to want without wanting in it’s truest form, then let this be it. I do not seek to be scarred by words but sometimes, they etch themselves onto my forehead. I see them all the time. Let me just hide them today.

There is something a bit like an afterlife in the aftermath of debris of what once was and now is not. It is in the knowing for sure that you can’t have what you once had, the makeup fades and the true you is exposed. The way sleeves are detached and left hanging on a bare thread before the final snip, the separation. The pain. The reality as the truth sinks deeper and deeper into the parts of you that did not know but now they are aware. The shock quiets down and you know.

The subtle differences between mascara and heartbreak

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