Lipstick, Plastic, And Paint
by Adelaide Elizabeth Morgan

She looks like her.

She sounds like her - most of the time.

But she doesn't feel like her. She's cold and hard the same as he, not warm and soft and supple like her.

She says that she loves him and he wants to believe. Wants her to love him the way he lovesÉ The way he loves her.

It's not real, the way she feels about him. Not completely, not really, not truly. It doesn't come from the heart. How can it? She doesn't have a heart; not a real live beating one anyway. Neither does he, of course, but that's not the point.

The point is that her love for him is false. It's as manufactured and programmed as she is. He knows this and he wants to care. But he can't quite bring himself to.

He loves her. The real her, that is. But she doesn't love him. So thisÉ this fraud, this representation of her is all he has and he will have to make do with her. With it.

For now.


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