Worth
She stretched and languorously reached out for the slim leather case.
"How long?" she asked, as she lit the offending cigarette.
He looked at her with contempt,
"It's seven in the morning. Must you?"
She gave him a searching look.
"Yes. The worst part of being lied to is knowing you weren't worth the truth."
Pipe-dreams
She lay on her bed staring at the celing, her empty wine glass the only witness to the slip of the mask, the smudged kohl. She nibbled on a perfectly manicured nail and sighed.
"Everyone has at least five dreams every night. That's thirty-billion dreams. One of them has got to be about me."
The Looking Glass
The cherry red stained her lips in one precise, fluid curve.
Her eyes, highlighed in a swirl of burgundy.
Cheekbones smeared with ripe plums, iridescent over sepia skin.
Auspicious Colors.
Flawless. Immaculate. Composed.
She contemplated her mirror image, facinated at the ease with which she concealed the scars.
"Baraat Aa Gayi Hai..."
Outside. And Inside.
