the other woman (after nina simone)

the other woman dyes her hair red and breathes her stomach in. puts on enough colour on her cheeks to hide the tear stains. splashes vanilla mist in her hair so it doesn’t reek of touch starvation. puts on a facade to be one of the crowd.

the other woman fills the gaps of conversations with laughter, afraid to be anything but amusing. she looks up ways to make you stay with her for a minute longer. in that one minute, she would offer you the world if she could. the other woman peeks through the fence everyday, waiting for when it’s her time to offer herself. wishing that one of these days she wouldn't be the mistake anymore. she splashes concealer on the love marks on her neck and presses on it for the hurt to drown her. the other woman carries the burden of his affection when he has nowhere else to keep it.

the other woman waits for his fingers in her hair, so she feels tolerable for the night. only to wake up in the morning and read unfamiliarity in his eyes. she inhales his cologne and grabs a fistful of his hair while he’s inside her. only to close her eyes and wait for his temporary devotion to end. the other woman dreads the regrets washing over the morning after, but accepts that this is her parcae. the other woman lets his fingers linger around her neck for a few seconds more. just to feel wanted. just to feel desired.

the other woman watches as his fingers curl around someone else’s arm while she lays alone closing her eyes. he offers her the lips he pressed against the other woman’s chest three days before. the other woman watches as he holds his woman’s body with the same hands with which he held her heart a week before. only to drop it in concrete and leave the mess for her to clean. the other woman questions her fate and cries herself to sleep. the other woman sleeps to the sound of him kissing the girl he loves.

the other woman lies inside the refrigerator, cold, waiting to be taken out when his body aches for the taste again. unfreezes her heart every time he lets her be close enough to smell his ysl, but never close enough to be familiar with the smell. the other woman begs for torture and he gives it in the form of conversations and embraces. she accepts the breadcrumbs and the fate that comes with it.

the other woman waits and waits till the red in her hair fades. till the tear stains get engraved enough that her cheap blush cannot cover it. the other woman smiles at him and gifts him the freedom of pretending the bed never saw them together. maybe the freedom will come with a free dash of conversation she can think about when she’s lying in the cold. maybe the freedom will mean that someday, he will see her as more than the other woman.

nibir/ for you i'd ruin myself a million little times