PG, 357 words
her eyeliner's smudged from the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes that she refused to let fall. she rubs at her eyes and her fingertips come away sooty. she is better than this; she will not cry over this.
it's silly, and it's sad, but she wonders if he still finds her beautiful like this, when she is imperfect in every little way: her hair stringy around her face, her skin blemished, her eyes red from tears she won't cry and half a cold that hasn't quite gone away yet. she feels miserable and thinks she looks it too, which makes her heart sink just that little bit more. it's not that she wants to be a beauty queen or a model; she just wants to feel liked (wanted, desirable), and she wonders if that is possible still when she's at her worst.
she misses the way he used to hold her, arms tight around her as he whispers, "hey beautiful," like he was so lucky to have her. she misses how he looked at her, how he kissed her, how he made her feel, just for a little while, like she was the prettiest girl in the world. the only one he would care about and love and cherish.
it's stupid and she blinks rapidly (tears, stupid) as she reminds herself that she was the one who chose to push him away. it's not going to work out, she's not ready for this, this isn't what she wants... every reason and excuse that tumbled from her lips, she remembers, and regrets a little.
it's for the best, she knows at the bottom of her heart, but a part of her will always miss being, briefly, his number one.
she closes her eyes and presses the heels of her palms against them, squeezing back the stray emotions. she is better than this. she will not cry over this.
she has a future, she reminds herself. she has her dreams. she will find someone else, when the time is right, when she is ready for it.
and she will be beautiful to him, too.
2009.09.23
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