She always dreams of satin pajamas and lace nighties instead of her worn-out yoga pants and college tee that she wears to bed every night. She wished she had a fairy godmother who could bibbidi-bobbidi-boo her into luxurious fabrics; then she could get a full night’s sleep while looking like a princess. Although no one would be looking at her while she slept, and if she were to awake and find that someone was, she’d be too terrified to worry about how she looked. And now, she was too scared to go to sleep in case there was a creeper lurking nearby just waiting for her to doze off. To get that thought out of her mind, she pulled up her favorite online shop and perused the site to satin pajamas. Her mind was able to relax as she scrolled through all the pretty pajama options and added them to her cart. She realized that she already had a fairy godmother. She was only a few feet away in her pocketbook in the form of an American Express card. No bibbidi-bobbidi-boo required. A simple CVV number and an expiration date would do the trick!
If only Valentine’s Day happened thrice,
on the darkest, coldest days of winter
when your body is still frozen from the ice,
and you need permission to reenter
the glorious life you knew you once had.
May every kiss act as a reminder
that the good will always trump the bad.
May every sweet word whispered be kinder
than the one before, so when the ice cracks,
and you heart starts beating more and more,
you will recognize its rhythm and relax.
You have heard this melody before.
The bouquet of flowers is your lover’s vow.
He’ll always love you, especially now.
She wets her cotton round in micellar water and rubs it across her face. As she wipes her makeup off, she also takes her insecurities and battered self-esteem with it. She pumps a small amount of cleanser in her palm and gently rubs her hands together to create a lather. Then she rubs the gel on her face, gathering up the rest of the day’s grime: the constant anxiety of being late and messing up, the pressure to be perfect, the self-hate from not having the right body shape or clothes. She roughly rubs her face gathering all of that up and splashes her face with cold water, and watches it all go down the drain.
The first thing to slip was her accent. She had spent weeks practicing her French, making it sound as if she was fluent. Her first slip-up was when she pronounced the “t” at the end of s’il vous plaît. She looked down at the table to avoid his reaction and took a sip of her café au lait, which burned her tongue and brought tears to her eyes. She had forgotten that she ordered her coffee très chaud because it seemed like the French thing to do. He showed no indication of catching her mistake and continued to ask her questions about growing up in France. She nibbled on her croissant and kept her answers as brief as possible.