Masks

What is is about you that is so damn breathtaking?

Your features are like carven marble. I swear it. Chiseled to perfection while your hair, in elegant disarray, falls in a relaxed tousle over the side of your face. You smile, you laugh; your teeth gleam whitely behind rosebud lips at every word you say. But your grey eyes are turned away. You’re speaking to someone else.

There was a time, not long ago, when I was captivated by you. We’d talk of inane things; you’d show me your battle scars and I’d laugh in all the right places as you told me the stories behind them. Sailing on your bike over a moving fire truck... pure teenage ignorance, perhaps, but I found nothing but humour in it because it was you.

Our one class together was a little slice of giddiness in my day. You made me feel special; when we talked I’d always have something witty to say. You were intelligent while maintaining your confidence and that set you apart from the others. You had an opinion. And your cologne smelled like heaven to me.

And now, as I lean nonchalantly back in my chair and study your figure, the appreciative giggles of the three catty girls leaning over your table are a dull blow to my heart. Bits and pieces of your conversation float over to me and linger numbly in my ears. Saturday night. You brag of your alcohol intake and the respected people you kept company with; subtly, of course, because you’re always suave like that. The girls toss their hair. I glance casually away.

When I look up again you’re watching me. You’re alone; your admirers have trouped off. Our eyes meet for a moment. The corner of my mouth tugs upwards in the slightest of smiles as you pointedly look back to your work.

I would like to think I wasn’t fooled. I’d like to think you’ve changed. But I would be lying to myself.

You've been fake all along.