The Lipstick’s Lament
<p>She left me on the sink. Right beside the cold tap that still dripped from the night before; the space now empty of loud chatter and gossip, which had eventually dwindled to silence.</p>
<p>The overhead light had been extinguished at around 11.30 pm, and as I heard the faint click of the key in the street door, I knew She wasn’t coming back for me.</p>
<p>The warmth from the nearby radiator had long since dissipated — a blessing in some ways, as last night, it was so hot in here I felt as though I could melt. But now it was cold — too cold and I felt myself hardening in response. At least my cap had been replaced. That was something.</p>
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