Tears stain my cheeks like clear, salted paint. I want to wipe them away, but I end up smearing the sadness across my face. My eyes are rimmed red, and my cheeks stained with a cruse mixture of blue, yellow, purple and green hues. I have a certain hatred for crying, because anyone who sees can easily evaluate what I'm feeling. I don't want the sympathy most tend to offer, yet I accept it. Because what is there to do? I can sit here and cry. I can feel sorry for myself. Or I can embrace these new found hurtles with an uplifting determination. I could win.
But why? Why uplift when it's sure to be my downfall? In fact, sitting here and crying sounds fabulous. I'll become a modern Mona Lisa with my emotional face paintings. People won't wonder where my eyebrows went, though. They'll question my overly colorful cheeks and sad eyes.
Yes. It's the Mona Lisa life for me.
+ + +
Well... That turned out different than I expected.
It's sad because this is basically how my brain works.
Thank you for reading. <3