You can tell alot about a woman from the state of her eyebrows. Her mental, physical, and spiritual personalities reside in over plucked thin arches, bushy squirrel tails, slanted twin peaks, or in my case unruly clustered coils. I used to be a dashing diva fanatic, eagerly hitting the salon to get my brows waxed into a slight arch with a long tail. After wards my raw skin would be soothed with an aloe rub then camouflaged in plums, pinks or pearl, while my lashes were carpeted with inky black Le grand curl mascara. I felt quite the diva, with my winking and blinking smoky eyes. And suddenly I looked in the mirror and saw my twin arches plopped. Scraggly bits of hair growing everywhere, an unkempt lawn turned to jungle. What happened!! It's been months since I've tortured my brows into refinement, looking at my uneven nails and thick cuticles, it's glaringly obvious, I've let myself go.
I don't know when it began but I recall weekends in bed, huddled under a comforter either reading or sleeping. Days blurring into months, where did the time go?
well, there was a slight breeze last night in my room. Everything is tightly locked against the frigid air but still there was a breeze, it smelled like the cold moist earthy scent of change. A slight scent, I wonder now if I imagined it. The way I sometimes smell an ex lover's mingled scent of newports, sweat, dentyne ice and nautica just almost, enough to make me search for him but never find him. Was it real or a wish escaped through a sigh teasing my senses before it evaporates. Well, I think I smelled change, enough to make me notice my caterpillar brows. Enough to cause a fluttering in my head, cobwebs stripped by leaping thoughts. Lips cracking in a smile, I feel creaky but I smelled change. gonna pluck my brows.
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