Mascara

It's 7:00pm, and she's sitting there in front of her mirror generously applying coats of mascara to her eyelashes.

She wants her eyes to be what you notice when you look at her -- not her hair of which she spent thirty minutes curly, or the outfit she spent twenty minutes putting together. She doesn't want you to notice her cleavage subtly peeking from her blouse, or even the way her ass shapes so nicely in those jeans. She wants her eyes to be what you see...when you see her. She wants you to look into her eyes, and see what she feels when she looks at you.

When she looks at you, something inside of her explodes lightly. Perhaps it's butterflies...but what she feels is more than just silly butterflies. Get trapped in her glance, get trapped in her eyes and look into her soul. Her everlasting soul, and shine some light into that dark abyss. You can save her.

She's hoping you notice her desire for you. She's hoping you catch her quick stares, and see the effort that she put in to make it look like she "looks good without even trying". It's that glance of lust, desire, passion...but you never notice her.

The light that shines in her, and shines through her eyes when she sees you dies a little. She goes home, and it's 2am. She has had quite a few drinks. She comes home, to an empty room -- feeling empty.

She sits there in front of her mirror, and stares at herself as dark lines of mascara drips down from her face. And the hour or so that she spent putting so much effort in the way that she looked that night, only took a quick instant to ruin. Her eyes are running, and you see it on her face now. You see that dark abyss on her face -- in her eyes.