At first it mattered to her –
The way they looked.
The way they spun words from their mouths
Like silk
And wrapped her in them.
When they gazed into her eyes every fibre of her being
Would quiver.
When they were angry
Their cheekbones would form ghostly ravines.

But she learned not to fall for the pretty ones.
She still sees their faces every night
Taunting.
They ask her why she ran away.
Her mother asks,
“What kind of man will you date next?”
She replies,
“One without a head.”