She used to love circles.
For they signified perfection.
Not anymore.
-
She wants to do it again. She takes another puff. Staring at herself in the mirror, her hands are itching to do it again. So she does it. There is smoke, there is that burning sensation. She loves it.
-
She has perfected the art of makeup by now. She had to. There were always circles under her eyes. She hated circles after all.
-
She stands in front of the mirror, her back towards him while she looks at him. He looks at her while she unbuttons her shirt, with a burning cigarette in her hands. She lets the shirt drop. She notices the widening of his eyes. She knows that he has seen them, those circles. She needs a distraction. She takes a puff. The smoke fills her lungs. Bliss.
-
Something disturbs her bliss. He has moved closer. He kisses one of the marks on her back. She takes another puff. She needs the high. She know what is going to come next. It happens everytime. That’s the problem with men, they think women need their validation.
“You are perfect. Your body is perfect. These marks or your weight don’t matter to me.” He says.
Lies. They all speak white lies, while looking at her in the eyes. Just like her husband.
She turns.
She puts the burning tip of her cigarette in his right eye.
Smoke, that she loves, erupts between his eyelids.
There is that screaming once again.
She never gets tired of hearing it.
She picks up her shirt.
Buttons it up.
Walks out the door.
Shutting it behind her.
-
Eyes, whether blue, green or brown.
Always a circle.
And she, hates circles.
//Circles//
-K.
