She practises yoga and wears red lipstick, but she isn’t real. Not the version he sees anyway. In private, she has no wings. Her lips are pale and she doesn’t even know herself well enough to hate herself. She thinks she is interesting.
When she talks, he focuses on the way her lips move, and how the light catches the frame of her glasses. He doesn’t hear the words, not really.
She puts beads in her hair and collects belief systems, but no matter what she surrounds herself with, she is eventually alone. And when she stares in the mirror her reflection stares back with empty eyes.
At night, he thinks of an imaginary her; his personal design. He’s convinced that he loves her. She empties a packet of Benson and Hedges while filling Instagram with pictures of her food. She empties and fills, but she remains the same.