Her favorite accessory was me. She carried me with her on all special occasions. Sometimes, when she feels less confident, I do whatever she needs to feel sensual and ecstatic. I erased all the doubts she would have about herself, as she erased me when she was tired. Whenever she looked in the mirror and was with me, she believed that she was beautiful. She was so beautiful, I knew it best. She was incomplete without me. I was an essential part of her personality. I still remember the first day she saw me. I was sitting in the store waiting for one of the girls to try me. And then she went inside. It was one of those rainy days, and despite wearing an umbrella, she was wet. Her wet hair curled into her neck, wearing dark circles under her eyes. The store owner looked at her in surprise. The others didn’t want to be touched, but I was curious.

The feeling of euphoria was complete when I became part of her. I was stunning red, bold, and attractive. Even my scent knocked her off her feet. She didn’t like anyone else, so she took me home. From that day, I sit and decorate her dress, her style, emphasize her smile, and make her happy. When she paints her lips, her face changes into that remarkable smile. Although she knows she is beautiful. When she puts me on, only then she feels complete. Only then she’s herself. And that scene is only my privilege to see. My color of passion and redness fills her with confidence. Her red smile depicts a little girl with striking eyes and a desperate look. When she puts me on with the last movement of her hand, she turns into a goddess of beauty to who no one can say no. She wanders the street, looking for clients. Some take her to fancy hotels, while some take her in a one-bedroom apartment. When she gets home, she puts the money they pay her into the clothes right next to me. She hustles things everywhere and throws them all over me impatiently, wanting to forget the evening. Then, she sits down, taking me in front of the mirror. Lightly, with tired fingers and a nostalgic look, she looks at herself.

That look hides dirty secrets and pain. I knew each one because I felt her cold touches all over me. She used to take me off with them, to make sure I wouldn’t leave marks the next morning. And so we got closer. I couldn’t imagine a night when I don’t go out with her and walk those desolate, cold streets and turn her into the most beautiful girl waiting for the next prey, which will make me disappear. And with me, her too, piece by piece. Each night, her lips remain intact. Tonight is my last night on her lips. She didn’t bother, just a little makeup to hide her imperfections, or those details that she didn’t like. She didn’t know about the confidence without the little things like me to make her divine. And on this last night, I look at her, so beautiful. She smiles as she wipes me off her lips, her fingers turn blood red, wearing an ordinary dress tonight. Little red dress, to suit me. She was barefoot, not in the mood for heels tonight. Our last evening, unrepeatable and unforgettable. Just like her appearance. The doorbell rang, and she laughed. I was amazed to see him come in, grab her waist with one hand, and smear me with the other one. It was the first time I shared myself with other lips. She didn’t want to keep me until the end.

I saw his smile as I disappeared, slowly, for the last time. As if I had never been there, I felt myself losing and blending with the roughness of someone else’s skin. Only I suited her look so perfectly. And she adored me, so I understand why I disappeared, I had to. I enjoyed every one of her nights, and she enjoyed putting me on as the most suitable accessory, so brave and satisfied. I was proud, too, of being such an essential part of her, her favorite shade of red lipstick. But I was just another detail in love with the lips I adorn. I wonder what it would look like if she had chosen that rainy day a different shade. Would the watercolor color of her lips and another lipstick match and look as marvelous as she and I were?

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