She passes like a whisper and is just as hard to catch but never quite unnoticed. She won't look you in the eye for long and has trouble saying three short words that contain too much meaning, too much pain. The trembling of her hair against her breath is enough to stop men in their tracks and if they're lucky they might get to keep her for the night. In the dark she'll be anyone you want; in the morning she'll be gone. An escape artist in the bedroom, some wake up unsure that she wasn't a dream. At home she just discards her underwear in the closet like another skeleton and washes the foreign scent from her skin. She stares in the mirror at a reflection that yields nothing, but she would rather feel empty than be hurt again.