Agnize

The other day she noticed her pink lipstick almost touching the tube base. A couple of applications; then she would need a brush applicator to take the color off the holder. That was her favorite pink. A soft pink, two shades lighter than magenta, this one had glitters giving her pout a velvety frosty finish. She had named it shimmer pink. Shrugging her shoulders, she picked the other stick. Even ‘pink’ was due to run out. No more could the stick be twisted to be applied directly.
“Time to buy some colors…”, she thought.

Several of her bb sticks had run out in the last two years… 3 maybe! While applying makeup last evening she noticed the fourth one too would have to be tossed in the bin soon. She had poured a few drops of water to the one she was applying even though she had taken out a fresh pack of mascara. No thoughts had crossed her mind till then.

She was dying to wear heels. Thanks to winters, this was after so long she wore shoes for this long a period. To be able to wear open toes, she would have to paint her toe nails. She was getting tired of wearing sneakers to work. She settled on applying the blue nail polish with glitters tonight. She took the tiny bottle out of the drawer holding it up to her eye level to ensure what she saw was what it was. The color was due to finish! She poured some thinner out to the bottle that made the color last for two coats for that one time application only. That’s when it hit her.

Some time had passed by since she resolved to fix her life for once. While it seemed to her as if it was only yesterday, it’s for over two years she’s been hitting displacement in a continuous momentum. That’s what she needed… realization.

She ran too fast to register the changes. To observe, one needed to pause. She hadn’t called for any time out. Lot changed in those two years. Many phases overlapping had seen curtains drawn over successfully. That nail color perhaps was an indication of an act of conclusion due to be enacted soon.

Snapping cords was something her father did. After all, she was his daughter. She would take a cue, invoke her instincts and write over her past.

It was time she wrote him off.

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About Olivia

Corporate worker, textile designer, writer.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Story and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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