what happens to a disengaged widow?
post-mortem, she would mourn for the required time period. whether for reflection or respect for her deceased spouses' family, she would wake up and replace her wedding band with a mourning band. she would walk, hollowly, and go about her daily life.
of course.
but what next?
this is where she brushes delicate tears from her eyes and looks at herself in the mirror. her hair looks quite stunning today, she thinks to herself. her mascara runs, melding with her crocodile tears and creating a dainty river of shallow depression down her porcelain face.
would you rather be a widow or a divorcee?
she wipes her face. nuisance, she thinks. just like at the funeral. mascara tracks a mile long. ruined the pictures, needless to say.
calls from her mother and her in-laws. flowers, blooming 'im sorry's and 'deepest sympathies'.
she smiles. carnations. her favourite.
then there was the therapy, the sessions her mother said were "necessary" after this "terrible accident."
this was no accident, it was a therapeutic chain of events.
they mutter about their post-traumatic stress disorders and depression while she relaxes on the couch. she hums to herself.
so long live the car-crash hearts
lie on the couch til the perished come to life
fix me in forty-five.
she leaves another session. she quickly forgets about it.
ever so quickly.
the last thing on her mind as she drifted off to sleep that night, amongst the carnations and sympathy cards?
"i must go to the drug store to buy some waterproof mascara."
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