A week ago I tried to catch this guy attention by wearing high heels.
My best friend and I went to this bar close our home. I was supossed to meet "the magician" that night. So there I was, wearing a new pair of heels, my feet; killing me after 2 hours of waiting while I was dancing, pretending I didn't care his absence.
After three songs and many beers, two guys approached me. I wasn't interested, they weren't my magician. But still I did talk to them, while they were showing me how cute they thought I am by buying me shots of the most expensive whiskey.
Soon the huge amount of alcohol went from my veins directly to my heart, and the show began. I couldn't hold my tears anymore, they were somewhere behind my eyes hiding from the public at the bar. but somehow the whiskey gave them the power to go out. They danced on the lousy stage, and the audience started to clap.
Perhaps was my new leopard print shirt, or my tiny black leather skirt, or maybe my fake height, which caught people's attention.
My friend thinks it was my mascara running down my cheeks... Who cares, I was crying for a guy who's not even in the same city that I am, and that night I was expecting to get my magician home, so he could do some magic trick and for a night or maybe just for a moment, make disappear all the memories I keep from my young old lover.
Suddenly, when I had no more make up on my eyes, the magician made his triumphal entrance.
He poked my shoulder and I didn't want to turn around, not in that condition. I ran into the ladies washroom, and stood in front of the mirror... everything was ok, my shoes were great, but I was sure that we wasnt going to look at them, especially not with the face i was wearing.
I had no time to put some make up on again, so I just took my red chanel lipstick out of my harajuku lovers make up pocket and put on my lips. I love making a mess on a guy's lips whenever I kiss them while I'm wearing chanel red lover.
So I went to the dance floor again, and there he was, wearing a white shirt with the wrong jeans, they seemed to came all the way down from the 90s. He looked like Brandon Walsh from Beverlyhills 90210.
He wasn't a magician anymore, he was a bad joke, a failed trick.
We didn't kiss, I managed to kept my chanel on my lips. He left and I started crying again. It wasn't for him, it was for my young old lover. He couldn't make my memories dissapear, on the contrary, they were more alive than ever.
While my tears were falling to the floor, i saw my heels again, they comforted me. I went home alone, but with a great pair of shoes, they were killing me, but they weren't as lethal as my memories.
