I know not, I don't find out, I can't find out, I won't find out. Not wanting to hope, not looking out, not waiting. I sit, I get up, I stretch, I lie, then sit, then straighten, then lock my arms across my chest.
The powder puffs on my face, the liner outlines my eyes, a lipstick softens my lips and the perfume settles on my skin. A dew of excitement leaves tiny drops of hanging sweat by the temples. I let them be, I let them tease the nerve under the skin there, in preparedness for the drops to fall.
The mole I thought had gone away has returned for a summer visit, almost pushing its way through my skin. It erupts, it stings my skin and then it makes my chin its home.
I welcome it, as I welcome the familiar routine of people not keeping time. As if it were inevitable, as if I almost deserve it.
The powder puffs on my face, the liner outlines my eyes, a lipstick softens my lips and the perfume settles on my skin. A dew of excitement leaves tiny drops of hanging sweat by the temples. I let them be, I let them tease the nerve under the skin there, in preparedness for the drops to fall.
The mole I thought had gone away has returned for a summer visit, almost pushing its way through my skin. It erupts, it stings my skin and then it makes my chin its home.
I welcome it, as I welcome the familiar routine of people not keeping time. As if it were inevitable, as if I almost deserve it.
