Imagine waking up next to her someday.
She’s curling next to you, snuggling, whispering faint love yous, showering you with kisses. She imagines herself waking up to cheese and pancakes. Or maybe another round of love making. But you. You wake up disturbed. Disgusted rather. So, the blushes have gone.
Image Source: Memorable Night
You remember last night as one of the best nights of your lifetime. “You might give serious complexes to Rihanna!”, as you had complimented her as she adorned the ramp in the red dress. The dark lipstick, those sleek tresses, those flushed cheeks, those perfect curves, it all had turned you on to the extent that you wanted her the other night. You wanted her bad.
Image Source: Turning Point
And now when you have her beside you, it doesn’t feel that great. You notice that the blush is gone. The lipstick too. Her eyes are smeared with Kohl and there were circles of darkness and stress too, hidden perfectly beneath the layers of foundations and concealers. The sleek tresses are now in a bunch of curls. There are wrinkles, moles, cuts and scratches all over her body, deciphering tales of her mischief, age and rebellion.
Disgusted with your broken fairy tale, you leave. You leave her naked. Devoid of both, clothes and reasons. Devoid of love and human affection. She wakes up to an empty bed, wondering what went wrong. Wondering how she could have acted differently, to make yourself stay long.
Wondering the shortcomings
Sitting aimlessly she ponders on her shortcomings. Wondering how do men always look good without makeup? Maybe, because nobody ever told them that they look bad without it.