I had a dream about a girl with golden corn silken hair and eyes so powder blue no sky could compare to the way they looked at you. She hid secrets in her tiny frown lines and in each photograph I took she turned her face away trying to keep the secret to herself. When daylight came those lines became reflections in mirror frames I’d left sitting on window panes long forgotten under white sheets so heavy that no one dared to lift their corners. Suddenly the girl appeared warning me that every instant is not as pleasant as the last and that tall dark mysterious men aren’t as attractive as their glorified to be.