Rosewood, More or Less

February tenth. I was standing in the CVS last Tuesday for maybe twelve minutes longer than I needed to be, in front of the lipstick display, doing the thing where you hold two colors next to each other under fluorescent light and pretend that's useful information. I put both of them back. Then I picked one up again on the way to the register.

This morning I actually used it. I was in the middle of the usual getting-ready routine, moisturizer, mascara, hair that I gave up on halfway through and just clipped back, and I opened it without much intention, put it on, and looked up. It worked. I don't mean in some dramatic sense. I mean it was the right color for this particular February morning, for this particular face, and sometimes that is the entire victory you get from a Tuesday errand.

the lean-in moment

I left the cap off the mascara for too long and had to throw it out after, so the math on the morning is maybe even. But I photographed the counter before I cleaned it up, because there was something about the lineup of it, the little tube on its side, Gerald's smaller sibling on the windowsill, everything a little crooked, that felt worth keeping. Not for any reason. Just because it was a Friday and it was mine.

the lineup

I've been going to the yoga class on Wednesdays. That's still happening. Carol's second letter is still on the counter, which is a different counter in a different room, and I haven't written back yet but I will. February is the kind of month that makes small things feel more substantial than they are, and I'm trying to account for that. The lipstick is probably just a lipstick. But it was the right one.