27 April 2012

Slob

She is self conscious, she walks without moving her arms, sucking her stomach in when she laughs. Her legs do not seem to move from her hips. When she wakes up she looks at the pillow to see how much eyeliner has been lost, she reapplies and puts her bra on under her pyjamas then comes down to breakfast. I am dishevelled and unsupported, my home hair cut feels suddenly obscene, an affront to something I do not understand. She winces when I paint over chipped nail polish.

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