tearproof

She was like Monday’s rain on a busy day, with nothing but heartbreaking silence and arousing pity, a dry mascara for the wet eyes of lust. Moaning about regret and loneliness. She was like Tuesday’s bouquet of flowers, with a clear sky and candy pieces on her teeth. Chatting about love like the songs on the radio. She was like Wednesday’s box of chocolate after a long day, with red painting on the nails, and a seductive phone call. Talking about comedy and feminism. She was like Thursday’s rumor and hard homework, mind games played on cannabis, falling in love and betraying friends. She was like Friday’s champagne with strangers and laughs in vain. Mouth for the public and hands for dinero, like a song you just want to move your hips to. She was like Saturday’s affair and a bad hangover. Like the lies written in the magazines, and like too much salt in your meal. She was like Sunday’s breakfast with croissant and strawberry jam, like a girly dress in the fresh spring, blushing with smarter boys. Flirting about a good girl and math.