That Spark

HERE

My fingers map out the skin of my face yet again, flattening it to the bone at times and lumping it at others, in yet another valiant attempt, as I look for a spark; a glow, so that I may have a new and different answer.

But all of today is vain.

There isn't a molecule of inspiration or hope in the air. It feels dry and empty, lacking the minimal warmth.

I drop my hands in defeat and sigh at my own reflection in the mirror; the endless abyss that I am falling into. The 'giving up' phase has taken all of three tries for me to achieve throughout the day, which is a good sign. Because although I am beginning to draw faulty conclusions about my outlook, it pleases me to know that I am still tenacious and a diehard on the inside. With lesser self-esteem now, of course. People can say the phrase about not judging people by their looks a hundred times, but it was worthless without once having tried to live by it.

The same people I call harsh critics, my mother calls practical realists. And she was quite the revolutionist.

Had it not been for the phone call and her immediate departure, I might just be musing over the after-effects of the giving up phase right now.

Because I would've listened to whatever she must've said as I was vulnerable and exposed and I might not even have given myself a chance.

In vain, again.

I sigh again and shift my gaze back to Hayden in her little bathtub, eyeing me. I smile and walk back with the shampoo to continue bathing her.

What surprises me the most is that the intellectual and practical person I had thought Dean to be would stoop down in my eyes to this. . . .

I don't even have a name for it yet. Or for myself.

Looking presentable and non-ugly only from a few angles?

But it doesn't make sense! A lot of people have said that I was . . .

I snort in derision now, at the turn of my thoughts.

Like that would matter.

Was . . .

Or maybe I'm thinking too much about this. Maybe I was looking so desperately for an answer and when one had presented itself, I had taken it for better or for worse.

I sigh again, as those words take me down the less tread on memory lane.

Hayden giggles as she splashes the water around, and I caress her tiny head. She eyes me again with her round and adorable eyes.

"Buttons, you love mommy no matter what she looks like, right?"

Hayden giggles again and splashes at me.

"That's what I thought." I mutter, and rub the shampoo into her hair.

Vain.

I find myself constantly glancing at the clock as I finish up preparing dinner. Every cell in my brian screams that Dean won't make it, but I have hope to my advantage to fight against it.

Hope that Dean will keep his word. Hope that I can discuss this . . . recent and questionable epiphany with him like adults.

Hope that his answer is different from the one I am expecting.

I look over my shoulder when Hayden babbles impatiently at the dinner table, and spare yet another glance at the wall clock. Buttons did not tolerate hunger.

"Almost done, honey bun."

I promise, and work faster on Hayden's dinner.

I am just mashing the peas, when I hear a thunderous voice behind me.