I inhale the dark mist of self sodomising reflections like it were the sweet smell of nostalgia; Lavender on my pillow playing soft symphonies of content. This is no longer a reality but can be re-lived through memories, through a silver-lined portal of pretend; the face staring back at me, I know, is a devise; all fogged by want. This is the face I choose, the one I wear today. It may change, but for now, like a magic trick, smoke and mirrors guard me and my secrets.