She paces herself. Each second trickles but time doesn't seem to run out. 

One step forward and then another one back. 

She sits there in her dressing room staring at herself.

Tick. 

Her lips are too red to be natural and her eyes are sharp with liner.

The pink blush on her cheeks are as fake as the image she's attained for herself. 

Toc. 

Her feet is tapping with impatience along with her glance at the clock. 

She grabs her lipstick and paints herself red. 

Tick. 

It's disgusting. 

Then he comes to mind. 

Toc. 

He's a fool

Probably waiting for a never at the moment. 

Tick. 

But there's a bit of hope that stirs

And she thinks. 

Toc.

What if he is there

To accept her again, like no one else did. 

Tick. 

Someone so fake as her

Someone that needs to be yank off her pedestal. 

Toc. 

The makeup on her face smears like paint on a blank canvas

And she sees herself. 

Tick.

Then she's there

In a plain shirt with a dull green jacket, 

and no expensive handbag,

She stands there as if she's never left.

Her face is beautifully plain,

No lipsticks too red to be unnatural and no liner too sharp.

Roses bloom on both sides of cheeks and she looks up, 

And there they were again,

Back where they first started.

This time, she takes the first step

And suddenly, he's there

Right in front of her.