cracked lips


My mouth has decided I’m not allowed to smile today.

‘No matter’, I thought, ‘I won’t have to smile anyway today.’ I have to go to the hospital this afternoon, to accompany my mother in law. So no place for laughter, but only utter seriousness.

But this morning I have noticed I smile way more often than I thought I did.

Countless times already I have cracked the cut open. I smile everywhere. So after I went to the park with Kuzco, my upper lip was throbbing, a the cut stung like hell. When I came home and looked in the mirror, it looked like I colored my lips like a Geisha. A square of dried blood on the center of my lips.

It’s not something new to me. I regularly have a cracked upper lip. When Ramon and I were dating for the second time, I sat across the dining table, and when I felt I little nervous after two whole minutes of staring in each other’s eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I said in nothing but innocence, ‘ I suffer from a chronic gash midway.’ Off course I was referring to a cracked upper lip, but together with the head nodding towards his mouth, that all made it a little bit ambiguous. When it came clear to me Ramon’s shocked, but happy, facial expression was about a whole other meaning, that certainly cracked the ice.

But for today I will generally smear some Vasaline on my lips, because there’s absolutely no certainty I won’t smile today.