cool iridescent droplets tumble soundlessly over damp stone steps spat from a dark cloud-smitten sky. the corners of your lips twisted in an ominous snarl, eyes flashing green lightning. make-up streaming down porcelain warm-apple cheeks, mixing with ***** rain.
you, typically picturesque magazine perfection trussed up in delicate pin-up duds your hair twirled into a million intricate, flawless little curls that fall together like pieces in a puzzle. secretly pinned together to uphold a pretty facade. far from easy and natural, yet more desirable.
but look at you now. hair soaked, tendrils of slick dark silk plastered to cold skin, with mascara running down an immaculate visage, that finely curved chest heaving with furious little sobs. fists clenched with white hot knuckles, you shake with rage. just like a little girl... a little girl hiding behind a layer of mother's make-up, throwing a tantrum.
Maybe it's endearing; to see such passion from one who never showed her soul and kept her musings locked tight in a faraway place. Maybe it's not. The creature I once loved, destroying little parts of my soul, one by one with sharp words and cruel insults guilt-trips and indecencies.
But the tear-stained face in front of me no longer evokes the desired emotion. Hollow steps take me away, in the opposite direction, her dismal cries following me -- wailing ghosts lost, wandering through the wintry rain.