I am the mask.
I sit on the shelf, untouched. It’s been so long since she’s used me. The paint on me has started to fade and cracks have appeared all over my body. Yet, I do not complain. I sit quietly and patiently. She will come to me when she needs me. I wait.
When I hear her voice again, my spirits rise.  She is right in front of me. Perhaps this time she’ll use me. She has unintentionally teased me so many times by coming so close and then walking away.
She stands before me, her eyes brimming with tears. She stares at me with despair etched on her face. I attempt to quell my excitement as she contemplates whether to put me on or not. I try not to get my hopes up. She screams and with that final cry of anguish, her decision is made.  Her hands shiver as she reaches for me and presses me against her tear stained cheeks.
She leaves the room smiling as I settle on her face. The cracks on my body are now held together by her misery. The paint on me shines with a fresh coat of her tears. I listen to her laugh as I do my job.
For I am the mask, I am her happy face.