"Love," she says in a tone like it's over,
"is hate in disguise." Through her
empty glass I gaze at her, "Interesting thought."
She continues: "It's underneath, you know," her brows
question each other in the middle and she
exhales, "hidden."
I rest my elbows on the table and
alliterate thoughtfully, "Hidden hate." She
taps her spoon, discontented, and
furthers her philosophy with, "Most ugly things
are hidden." She pauses and pulls her cardigan
tighter around her shoulders.
"Beauty is just a mask. All it does is set us up
for heartbreak, because sooner or later we
have to uncover the ugly truth."
My head is suspended over my half full glass as I
look for a response in my cold hot chocolate.
A thought finds my voice, weakly, "What about true beauty?"
She frowns into her spoon, considering.
"Truth is just a mask for lies." She looks
impressively heartbroken. She
stands
breathes
looks around
tugs at her hair
then looks at me, solemnly,
a strange, subtle wildness in her eyes,
"I want to scream."