I was in your bathroom, trying in vain to clean the black straits of mascara running on my face with your soap. You knocked on the door, asking if everything was fine. I was wondering whether you were really ready to see my face without make-up.
My tears were all black. If I walked out to be with you now, I'd have to drop everything I had been wearing in the name of so-called love and dignity...
Would I ever be ready to face myself again in the mirrow without these masks?
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