I was worried about the drying green mud mask on my face dripping onto my legs as the tears came popping out. One by one but then in a steady rain of pale mint. Just tapping my thigh, falling. My eyelashes matting in the process leaving my vision bleary, disabled. What a female thing to be going through. A mask on my face. Some attempt at uplifting self esteem. A jab at my physical appearance. The need to cover it right now, immediately after. Hiding.

Who was I kidding? This didn't feel any different from any of the other times.

I was the same mess with the same convictions. My only problem now was instead of remaining silently by them, I had become imposing. My presence gaining resentment, fueling misery. My relationship which started so brightly had burned out into a series of withered, black embers strewn across the lines of repair and disrepair. It had now been shoved into irrevocable disrepair.

I don't want to be crying. It feels like admitting defeat. I'm incapable. 

But maybe I just am. Maybe that is just who I am.