She heaves a sigh

heavy with burden

and stained with marijuana

through her caked lips.

Her blue orbs

glitter underneath the chandelier;

they wander aimlessly through the

Dolce Gabbana bags and Gucci shoes

until they meet a dancing married couple.

The pale man naturally rests his

scrawny arms around

the black that drapes across

his wife’s generous waist. She

softens her gaze as she looks at him,

then softens them further as she

looks behind him -

at the two children

chasing each other through

the aisles of cheese and canopies,

releasing giggles of innocence

into the perfume tainted air.

When their irises meet

she musters a smile

that matches the happy couple’s.

She walks up

and says, you have a lovely family

How kind of you, where is yours?

Pause.

He’s not here today

As the party comes to a close

she stares longingly at her phone.

She scans the room cautiously

like a child stealing chocolates.

(for a second,

she drops her mask of a smile

and hastily wipes away her mascara coloured tears)

She (re)plasters a smile

so certain, so radiant, so perfect,

to make sure nobody even tries to see through it.

(but I already have)