Later

I held the coffee mug with two hands, afraid it would break apart if I loosened my grip.

The mug was fine.

Warm.

It did break in the end. Later.

Shattered against the wall next to me.

I was fine. Later.

/

Our fingers were entwined in a dark movie theatre, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. Butterflies.

Buttered popcorn.

Better times.

These gentle fingers curled up. Later.

Heart fluttered. Pounded. Hiccupped.

I don’t recall the movie.

But my fingers were greasy.

From popcorn. Later.

/

One hole on the belt was too loose, the next one squeezed me tight. Annoying.

Had I lost or gained weight?

He said gained.

I didn’t particularly love the red stripey art on my thighs.

It didn’t suit me. Red’s not my colour.

The belt was made of beautiful brown leather.

I bought it from a fair.

/

Before and after. Before and after.

After some time there were only before pictures.

Pretty little gallery of lie-believing eyes.

Each time documented when I naively tried.

When illusion won. Again.

I’ve always liked my eyes, though.

The after never came.

/

Promises and prohibitions.

His promises had wonderful acoustics.

His whispers made me blush.

Prohibitions. Later.

That gallery in front of me.

Filled with warning signs in black and white and colour. I did not believe.

I threw the gallery away.

And my new blush is labelled Maybelline.

I haven’t taken out the trash just yet.

But I will. Later.