I kissed him more out of habit than love. The lips parting and partaking, like a half-practicing catholic affecting conviction. He stared into my eyes, expecting devotion beyond the green. I turned my back against his pining, and he made malice in my image. Now I look in the mirror, wondering where the line ends between the skin he caressed, and the body that couldn’t believe. I watched his brown fall. He pushed me, playing the part.