Is There Still Time To Do That?

Your hand was shaking a little this morning as you patiently drew the line of your lips. You tried to ignore the quiver of your mouth, the salty water that was ruining your make up, each drop taking bits of the pretence away. Your cursed yourself for being so weak, for being so petty. What’s more, you needed your make-up to stay on, to be the mask you needed to wear at that wedding. 

You were happy for her. Really, you were. 

It’s you you were sad for. 

Composing yourself, you put your dress on, letting the lilac silk caress your body, soft as a feather, the garment shaping your shadow, fitting you like a glove. Not too bad, you will think, if I didn’t know better, I’d even let myself think a nice figure would still matter. 

The nice figure, as the beautiful face, were of no use to you. No sharp cheekbones, full lips or hazel eyes made any difference: you still made all the wrong choices at all the wrong times, oblivious of your instinct, deaf to the warnings, blind to the dazzling truth. Hoodwinked, that’s what you were, and now that you’ve awoken to the hard cold reality, you seriously wonder if he didn’t bewitch you, if he didn’t use some of his many voodoo skills to make you lose all senses and throw yourself into something you knew deep down will only cause you harm. 

You now put on your earrings, the salty tears have stopped, you’ve managed to recompose yourself, and you realise, that’s what people expect of you. Demure, classy, soft and tender, the ever present and understanding best friend, the doting aunt, the good daughter, the flawless sister. How odd, that no one ever seems to think that there might be the real you, buried somewhere deep under the layers of roles you force yourself to play. 

Looking at yourself in that mirror, you wonder how come life always gave you the supporting roles, and never the leading ones. 

I should have whined more, you think, I should have screamed more, demand more, cursed more. Lived more. Is there still time to do that? 

No time to think any longer, you silently wrap your stole around your delicate shoulders, spritzing yourself with a perfume a fierce actress once made legendary, considering that It wouldn’t be too bad if you made the legend happen for yourself, for once. 

Is there still time to do that? 

The bride is now happily walking down the aisle, blooming and a little scared, going towards a future she has no guarantee would be brighter than yours. But she decided to take a shot, and to hell if the dream would turn into a nightmare, if perfection would not meet her. She was living. 

Is there still time to do that? 

And maybe it was the ecstatic mood, maybe the radiant bride cast towars you a bit of her magic, but it had been a long time since you thought: well, you bet there is.


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