The foundation goes on heavy today.

I’m lonely, painfully lonely, and somehow feeling beautiful helps fill that void.

So I cake on the makeup. Cover up a pimple on my forehead, a mole on my cheek. Smooth over a faded scar on my chin that probably no one can see but me, with my face pressed closed to the bathroom mirror.

Scrutiny of my every flaw.

Feeling like if I can perfect my exterior, somehow it’ll sink in and my interior will be perfect too.

But the inside is much harder to fix.

Now eyeshadow. Base coat. Lid. Crease. Outer corner. The colors roll together.

I remember a stick thin woman on TV, grinning and winking as she dolls out beauty advice. “And blend! And blend! And blend!” she says in an artificially perky voice as she smears the stuff on her already gorgeous face.

Do you think she ever feels like she’s dying inside?

Maybe?

It’s time for the mascara. I swipe the wand delicately over my eyelashes.

My mind wanders. Is there anything more important than this in my life, just makeup and dirty mirrors and all my fading hopes and dreams.

Lip balm. Lipstick. Lip gloss.

I take a deep breath.

And open the door.

And whirl away.