I watched him intensly as he stole my life and lived it. My heart held in my clenching fist. I could see him through the holes in the mask. I was glad for the comfort of its concieling properties at times like this. I could be shattered and still sweep the little peices behind the its unchanged rubber features.
Its a mask of many colors, and I wear it with pride. But the damn thing is stuck on my face. I used to take it off sometimes. I would stare in the mirror, just looking. I tell myself that I like the feeling of smooth rubber over skin, and that the heat I suffer is a trial on the path to something better. I used to think of the mask as a means to some end. Now I know that the mask is the end, and I was the means.
He has become a thing of fascination for me. I watch him through the holes, letting my face get all wet with my own breath and sweat because of the masks claim to my skin.
I watched as he whisked through a world of classical jazz music, drinking wine and dancing with a woman who loves to read.
My eyes sting.
I force my mind to think on the future and the past. Both drugs to numb the now. The sweet feeling of a Sunday afternoon -lazy- lemonade two cubes and hours of leisure.
A small finger of truth taunts my consciousness. But I squish it angrily with my delusion. |
