A metaphor

Make up is what I was applying to my face yet my mind was else where. I looked up from my little mascara brush which I was digging out from the small container filled with that sticky black substance which ends up on the lashes and had my eyes met with a view of myself. I froze, staring at myself for what felt like an eternity even though I knew it was barely 3 or 4 minutes.  Surely.
What captured my eyes’ attraction was not the view of myself but the lonely absence of someone else looking at me.


I picked up my phone and captured a picture once I was able to order my eyes to look a way towards my phone which was pouring the hushed melody of To build a home by The cinematic Orchestra.
A tear escaped the corner of my eye before I managed blinking it away, hiding it in the depth of my soul and in that tear I saw the absence of someone to trust by my side, someone to look after simply because the one by me would reciprocate.
Having no one to wipe away my tears, I wiped it away myself with the back of my hand in the most un-ladylike manner and stood back up, taking my place infront of the mirror again. grateful for not having applied any mascara on yet I gently slapped my cheeks a few times to get rid of the puffiness which the tears brought on. If I had put on mascara before crying,  I would have had black tracks on my face by now.

Im lost and in pain. Diagnosed but my medication is out of reach.



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