Can’t Control Myeslf
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Eyes smeared with mascara from tears, a face covered in countless scratches, and blood all over my face. I kept the water running in the sink, wiping the blood from my face and hands. Tears and blood were running, and my eyes in the mirror were unfocused. No matter how hard I wiped, the blood wouldn't go away. I felt like a madman standing there.
I, with my long blonde hair, went on stage in a stark contrast to my bob-bobbed black wig. The concept of my play was "unexpected first love," and my partner, unfortunately, was my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had broken up on bad terms. We played each other beautifully on stage, as if we were real lovers. But offstage, the air was chilly.
I tried to catch him as he descended the stairs, ignoring me, but he paid me no attention. Ultimately, I failed to catch him, and my lonely hand, floating in the air, fell back into the void, unable to grasp anything.
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I accidentally dropped and broke a vase while changing clothes and applying makeup for a play, wearing a wig. But now things are different. As I stared, tear-filled and unfocused, the vase shattered right next to me. This was intentional.
I was so exhausted from the misery and exhaustion of my emotions, like a loose ring, that I didn't even react to the broken vase beside me. He looked at me with contempt and left. I didn't care if my heart was torn apart. That's how love is.
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Under the bright streetlights, on the beautifully flowing river, I embraced him. We held hands, locked eyes, and danced before the cheering crowd. But that was all when I had short black hair. In reality, my eyes were reddened as I received his contemptuous gaze.
Backstage, I nervously took off my black bob wig and went inside. The once dark room slowly brightened, revealing a landscape. The candles on the pretty cake illuminated the surroundings. They approached me with bright expressions as I wore a confused expression.
Today was my birthday. Even I didn't know that. Among those who were quickly blowing out their candles, wishing me a happy birthday, he was the only one who didn't shine brightly. To my eyes, he was the only one who didn't shine brightly. But he didn't spare me a glance at the radiant me in front of the cake. Of course. When those candles went out, I'd be nothing but ashen.
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The real me, suffering before countless cameras. The camera capturing my exhausted self, unable to control itself, just by being in his presence. Just when I felt like everything—my camera, my heart—was about to explode, he passed me. He seemed unfazed by my suffering.
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I finally lost control of my uncontrollable heart. On stage, I appeared with blonde hair, not black. As expected, my eyes were unfocused, and watching him perform on stage, I couldn't contain my anger.
I cried out, clinging to him as he smiled and looked out at the audience. I cried and screamed, even grabbing his arm and hugging him, but he ignored me and simply pushed me away. I felt like I was just a distraction in the play.
No matter how much I pulled my hair out, no matter how much I hit him, no matter how much I screamed, I couldn't control myself. Then the play ended, and the audience threw roses onto the stage. I was pricked by the sharp thorns, and I was left with raw cuts all over my body. With tears mingled with blood, I ran out, desperately trying to wipe away the blood that wouldn't go away.
Even if the bleeding stopped, the bruises that had already formed wouldn't go away. I finished the play with blonde hair. My mascara was smudged, my face was covered in bruises, and I wore a smile that seemed to have given up everything, eyes unfocused.