libre
𖠋♡𖠋
She wore a cute outfit today. One of my many fitted long sleeves with boyish jeans and a hoodie of choice. She made sure to choose a round neck, in order to reveal just enough skin to create a canvas for my gold necklace, that would then tie into the gold of my zipper and earrings. Small dainty hoops steeped in memories of my childhood, and yet they shone and glittered, hopefully you'd notice.
She then stuck on lashes which were the perfect blend of spiked and fluffy on my outer corners, in attempt to make me look prettier. She drew a thin line along the same axis of the newly applied lashes and then coated my bottom lashes in mascara. She felt that my eyes were my best feature, so she spent time accentuating them, she planned to lock eyes with you if given the chance after all.
The cocktail of eye-makeup and potentially expired mascara gave rise to a light itch along my eyelids that she would routinely ignore, instead of addressing the cause she sang lyrics of love songs that only further fuelled her delusions. All while lining my lips with a deep brown, and adding whispers of pink and red to my bottom lip, before blending her work with a clear glittery lip gloss.
She stepped back in the mirror and relished in her bashful expression. She had already begun her routine cycle through each and every way you might acknowledge her, how your paths might cross. Scenarios of bonding and speaking over the things you like, and the things that she likes, and how they align perfectly. I once teased the idea of us being a perfect match, while she is convinced we are. Still staring in the mirror I had noticed the foreign placement of this dainty smile on my lips, and allowed my emotions to bubble to the surface, allowing my face to stretch into a toothy grin that showed my gums, the imperfections of my teeth, the flecks of pigmentation on my cheeks. I was no longer the sweet expectant maid that feigned an acute curiosity for romance, but I was a fully fledged human being that ached for things of this nature and occasionally expressed discontent for not yet experiencing such. But still, found joy and value elsewhere, or so I thought. If this was really the case, then why was she still here?
Seeing my perfectly made up face be seized by such contortion was almost horrifying in her eyes. The scrunch of my nose, my pinkish-brown gums, my slightly yellowed teeth. All these things one would expect in a smile, all these things are parts of me, but not in the character she wished to play. Not in the kind of girl she thought you might like.
She is not loud and witty, she is soft and reserved. She speaks in a soft voice that evokes feelings of warmth and protection, she doesn't demand attention through substance or character, oh no, it is simply through her milky pink aura, her vanilla-oud scent. The way the light might catch her eyes and her child like responses to her environment. All of these things she expects you to take notice of in the momentous occasion that you might come across her. In the meantime she is straight backed and observant, she quietly indulges in a curated set of perfectly niche and feminine hobbies such as light jogs, poetry, and most importantly anything you might like. She is perfectly considerate and has a value system parallel to yours. Almost maternal but doused in eroticism, if you wish of course. She can be wide-eyed and hesitant in response to your advances, but ultimately willing to partake in what you like, but she can also be low lidded and mildly suggestive, responding to you with exclamative sounds that are reminiscent of other things - but she doesn't mean it that way! Its just your mind that is too shrouded in lust for her, that you're unable to think otherwise.
She wishes for you to burn for her, for her to become your waking thought and the very thing that comforts you before you sleep. A psalm on your tongue and a deity in your eyes. All that you could ever need tightly bound into a girl shaped package.
That is who I wished to be once or many times in some instances to a degree. When I feel this character attempting to come back, to take my place and wear my clothes, I seize her by her perfumed neck and force her made up face deep into the vat of self realisation. Her perfect velvet skin bruises immediately under my harsh grip, I can feel the shifting of her vertebrae, the shake of her bones, I push her deeper. I tighten my grip.
In attempting to be everything for a cause outside of yourself, you become nothing, you are vapid and changeable and remain unsuccessful in what you truly want.
Her bones begin to crumble like chalk
In playing this 'thing' you have settled and forsaken what is truly important, what stimulates your core, what truly brings you joy. The notes of mandarin, orange, blackcurrant and petitgrain, although they are sweet in their combination -
Her resistance against me falters, she grows increasingly limp
- they fail to mask the stink of your inauthenticity, the stench of the true me that is sentenced to rot within you.
I pull her head out of the vat and look down at this 'thing'. Small, frail, barely a woman. Its face swollen and waterlogged, free of all colour. Gone was the rise and fall in her chest, the steady beating of her heart. her eyes now puffy and lifeless. I pray that these compulsions never resurface.
I pray that she remains dead.
𖠋♡𖠋
I wanted to do something vaguely valentines/romance themed and ended up with this. This is like the cooler sister of 'crush?' Id like to say. was lowkey inspired by the substance through the premise of two version of me but I haven't watched it so there's only so far I can go with that parallel! original title was 'me and her' but I feel like libre ties everything in really nicely! Anyways I hope you enjoyed this and your valentines day!