Don’t you like my Pretty Eyes better Blackened?
My Maybelline mascara claims to be waterproof, but it’s streaked down my face now. I thought he said he missed me. This is one of those days.
I haven’t seen him in more than a month, and the day after we meet and kiss, and – call it what you will- fuck, he flies off to Kano to break my heart again. And I was fool enough to allow him, and to let him, and to hurt that he’s not here. Because, you see, it’s killing me, this separation from him. It hurts worse every day. And I hear the stories, and he tells them to me again and again.
He’s like a sailor.
A girl in every port. A girl in every state. A girl in every damn country he’s bloody ever touched down in.
God, when will it stop? When will it end? How is this fair? I never wanted the things he made me do. To turn them around and use them as leverage is hardly right. How can he hate me for what he wanted?
Today is one of the bad days. When the pain reaches a 10. He’s in Kano, my love, or will be. I have warned him. I do not want to hear. But I will. And it will cut deeper into me. Maybe if I could see actual blood it would be easier. Because this superficial pain rips as bad as any other. I understand now why people cut.
I never did before.
I would cut. I probably should. But where? And how? And how deep? Or maybe I just should until I can’t feel anything anymore. Until darkness comes, and I will be thankful.